The Rifle and the Wand
by JBean210
Summary: Harry finds himself in North Fork in 1885. How did he get here? More importantly, how does he get home? And what does he do when he finds that at least one other person in North Fork can do magic like him?
1. Wizard in a Strange Land

**Chapter One  
****Wizard in a Strange Land****  
**

_Published_ 7/22/2013

=ooo=

"Do you think we have enough, Mark?" Lucas McCain asked his son. The two of them were several miles north of the McCain ranch house, in a wooded area fed by a small stream that kept the grass greener than some of the surrounding areas where there was nothing but shrub and rocks. Small game was fairly common in this area, about an hour's ride north of the ranch, and Mark came here every so often to trap rabbits. Today Lucas had joined him in an impromptu father-son outing.

"I think so, Pa," Mark McCain decided, looking at the brace of rabbits he'd caught in his snares. Mark and his father had just finished making the rounds, checking his traps, and had come up with four rabbits — quite a catch for one day! "Do you think Lou would like to have some rabbit stew with us tonight?"

"We can ask her, Mark," Lucas said. "We should go into town anyway, to pick up some dry goods."

Mark nodded, but he suspected the reason his father wanted to go into North Fork was more about seeing Lou Malloy, the woman that owned the general store, than picking up dry goods.

The look on Mark's face might have made Lucas guess what he was thinking, because he added, "Maybe you'd like to invite your friend Lorrie to dinner, too?"

For a moment Mark had the look of a deer caught in a hunter's sights. "Well — maybe," he finally stammered. "I suppose if her ma and pa say it's okay." He glanced at the rabbits. "Maybe I should set a couple more traps…"

Lucas chuckled. "What we have now is fine, son," he said , grinning. "I just thought it would be nice if you had someone there your own age."

Mark smiled in reply, but he'd gotten the impression his pa was teasing him a bit. He liked Lorrie, and he knew she liked him, but he wasn't quite sure yet just what he was going to do about that. It was also pretty obvious his pa and Lou liked one another, and Mark liked her a lot, too, but he didn't know what his pa planned to do about that, either.

And there _was_ a certain advantage to having Lou over for dinner. "Do you think I can ask Lou if she'll bring one of her pies along for dessert, Pa?" Mark asked as he put the brace of rabbits in a sack to tie to his saddle. "She makes a mighty tasty apple pie, better'n you or me."

"You can ask her, son," Lucas said, checking his own saddle in preparation for the ride home. "But it would be impolite to expect her to make a pie for us just because we're asking her over to eat."

"Yes, sir," Mark said. He was about to climb into his saddle when a glint of light in the trees behind them caught his eye. "What was that?"

"What was what, son?" Lucas asked, looking in the same direction Mark was looking. "What did you see?"

"Something shiny behind a tree," Mark said, pointing in the direction he'd seen the flash of light. "It might've been off a pair of glasses — I thought I saw someone's head poking out from behind a tree."

Lucas unsheathed his rifle. "You stay here, son," he said, then moved off in the direction Mark had pointed out. If someone was out here watching them — Lucas couldn't think of any good reason why someone to be doing that.

He moved slowly through the trees, watching carefully for any movement in his field of vision. There was a risk if more than one person was hiding in the woods, so he kept close to trees as he walked, using them as partial cover.

There was a soft _crack_ some distance ahead of him, and McCain slipped behind a tree, putting it between him and the sound. Someone might've stepped on a branch. He scanned the area in front of him, looking for any indication that someone was moving…

There! Another glint of light off to his left! Whoever was watching him didn't realize that his glasses were reflecting the afternoon sun off them. Lucas moved toward where he'd seen the light, his rifle at the ready. Finally he reached the tree where he'd last seen the light, and he stepped around it quickly, pointing his rifle at the person behind it.

Behind the tree was a young man with unruly black hair, wearing glasses and strange-looking clothes, pointing at stick at McCain. "Don't move!" McCain said sharply, then realized the young man was unarmed except for the stick in his hand. "Who are you?" Lucas asked in a gentler tone. The boy looked at him warily but appeared unafraid. Lucas lowered his rifle so it was no longer pointed at him.

"Where am I?" the young man asked, his stick still pointed at Lucas.

"Where are you?" That seemed like a strange question — how would this boy not know where he was? "How did you get here?" Lucas asked in turn.

"I don't know," the boy said, glancing around. "I was — near my home, with my cousin and — we were attacked by Dem — er, by — er, someone — and I —"

"Hold on a second," Lucas cut him off. He recognized the boy's accent as English, but he wasn't sure if any English families had settled near North Fork. "Where do your parents live?"

The boy's expression took on a saddened look. "My parents are both dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry," McCain said apologetically.

"It was a long time ago," the boy replied, as if he'd heard the same comment from many other people. "Sorry. I'm Harry Potter, I should have said earlier —"

"I'm Lucas McCain," Lucas said. "How long have you been out in these woods? Are you hungry or thirsty?"

"A bit hungry," Harry said. "I haven't eaten yet today. In fact I don't remember the last time I ate." _Because my aunt and uncle don't like to feed me very much_, he didn't add aloud. No use mentioning his troubles to a perfect stranger.

McCain held out a hand, beckoning Harry forward. "Let's get back to where my son Mark is. He's about your age. We can head back to my ranch, then go into town and have a talk with the marshal about what to do about you."

Harry nodded and followed the tall, strangely-dressed man out of the woods. Until he figured out where he was and how he'd gotten here, he would have to be very careful and watch out for Death Eaters or whoever had sent those two Dementors to Privet Drive to attack him.

Back at the horses, Lucas found Mark sitting on a log waiting for the, watching curiously as he and Harry approached. "Mark," Lucas said, "this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my son, Mark."

Mark had never seen someone dressed like Harry was dressed — he was wearing a baggy, dirty shirt with no collar and no fastenings in the front. It looked like a nightshirt except it was too short; it reached only halfway down to the ground. And on his feet were something like Indian moccasins except they had laces on them like regular shoes. But if his pa was introducing them, he must think it was okay, so —

"Pleased to meet you," Mark said, standing up and extending his hand. Harry looked at it, then started to raise his own until he realized he still held his wand. He hastily jammed it into his back pocket and shook hands with Mark.

"Harry's coming back to the ranch with us," Lucas told Mark. "Then we'll go into town and have a talk with Micah. Do you think he can ride double with you until we get home?"

"Sure, Pa," Mark nodded, then smiled at Harry, who was looking at the horses with some uncertainty. He watched as the tall man and his son mounted their horses. Mark reached down offering his hand to Harry, to help him up, but Harry just stared at it. "Ain't you ever ridden on a horse before, Harry?"

Harry had in fact ridden on things a lot more interesting than a horse; he'd been on a hippogriff a few years ago, and regularly rode a broomstick in his Quidditch matches. And he'd seen horseback riding on the telly, but he'd never actually been on a horse before. "Not yet," he said.

"There's always a first time," Mark grinned. He slipped his boot out of the stirrup. "Put your left foot in there," he said. "Then grab my arm and swing your right leg over the horse."

Harry did as he was told and found himself seated behind Mark. "Hold onto me," Mark said, and they started off.

As Harry rode away with the tall man and his son, behind them, another pair of eyes watched from within the darkness of the woods. He had not arrived in time to take the boy; a shame, since it would make retrieving him that much more difficult now that he had been seen by others. The eyes melted back into the shadows, then disappeared altogether with nary a sound to mark their passing.

=ooo=

Harry found riding behind Mark on the horse unsettling until he got used to the rhythm of its gait. "It's not too bad, is it?" Mark asked over his shoulder.

"It's fine," Harry said. "Thanks for helping me."

"You're welcome," Mark replied. "But what were you doing out there in the first place? The nearest town's over 10 miles away. How could you get out there without a horse?"

"I don't know," Harry said again. He couldn't tell Mark or his dad about Dementors. And he had no idea how he suddenly ended up in this place while trying to get him and Dudley away from them.

"What's that stick for?" Mark suddenly asked. "The one you're carrying? Were you dowsing for water?"

"Uh — no," Harry said automatically. "Er — what's dowsing?"

"It means looking for water," Mark said, then frowned. "You mean you never heard of dowsing for water?"

"No," Harry admitted. Was it some sort of magical ritual? Were these people wizards who'd never had a formal education in magic like he had? "Is that like — you know, magic?"

"Some people think so," Mark said, laughing. "But I seen it work before."

"Have you?" That made Harry wonder what Mark would think if he showed him something… "Watch this," Harry said, taking his wand out of his back pocket and pointing it to one side. "_Aguamenti_," he said, and a thin stream of water poured out of the tip of his wand. After a few seconds Harry ended the spell, disappointed that the stream was so thin. The air must be very dry out here, wherever they were.

But Mark was staring wide-eyed at what he'd just seen. "Holy cow, what did you _do_?" he whispered, nor wanting his father to overhear; he wasn't even sure that what he'd seen was real.

Harry realized his mistake. Mark wasn't a wizard and didn't mean _real_ magic when he'd mentioned it earlier. But Muggles also had a kind of magic — maybe that was what he meant. "Sorry," he said quickly. "It was just a trick. An illusion."

Mark relaxed, then grinned. "That was a pretty neat trick, then! You'll have to show it to my pa."

"Sure," Harry agreed, planning to avoid that if he could. They rode the rest of the way to the McCain ranch in silence.

=ooo=

After washing off and changing into new shirts, McCain hitched a fresh pair of horses to the buckboard and the three of them drove into North Fork. It was the end of summer vacation and school was set to start next week, so the streets were full of boys and girls enjoying their final days of freedom, doing the sort of things boys and girls do that amuse or irritate their parents and other adults. Mark waved to a couple of his friends they passed on the way down the main street, and McCain came to a halt between the general store and the marshal's office.

"Mark, here's the list of things we need," Lucas said, handing his son a scrap of paper. "Have Lou get them ready and we'll be along to help you load the buckboard. Harry and I are going to visit Micah."

"Pa, I kinda wanted to tag along with you," Mark said, a little disappointed.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk afterwards," Lucas said. "I think we'll have dinner in town tonight after all."

"But what about the rabbits?" Mark protested. "I still have to clean them and —"

"I put them down in the food cellar," Lucas interrupted. "They'll keep until tomorrow. Now go on to Lou's. In fact," he added, reconsidering, "why don't you take Harry with you, introduce him to Lou and show him the general store?"

"Yes, Pa," Mark said, grinning. "Come on, Harry, Lou has some pretty good candy!" He and Harry dashed off in the direction of the store.

"Don't buy more than nickel's worth!" Lucas said loudly as they ran off. "And don't spoil your appetite!" Mark waved a hand in acknowledgement and kept running.

Micah Torrence walked out of the marshal's office, having heard the conversation outside. "Afternoon, Lucas-boy," he said amiably, glancing at the two boys running into Lou's general store. "Who's the boy with Mark?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Micah," Lucas said, turning toward him. We found him out in the grove at the north end of our property — Mark and I were up there trapping rabbits and we came across him. He was hiding in the woods and couldn't tell me how he got there. He said his name was Harry Potter — that made me wonder if he might be related to Scully Potter — you remember him, don't you?"

"Sure," Micah said. "He shot Ted Bennett, the sheriff of Marietta, about a year ago. I was bringing him to North Fork to stand trial when we ran into each other and you had your little mishap with that snake in your bedroll."

Lucas remembered that too. "Potter might've gotten off with life for helping me get clear of that snake, but he tried to kill you and you shot him. Do you think he had a son before he died? The boy told me his parents were dead."

"I don't think so," Micah said doubtfully. "Potter wasn't the kind of man to settle down, even temporarily. But I can take a look at the boy and see if there's any resemblance to Potter."

"We're having dinner tonight at Madera House," Lucas said. "Maybe you'd like to join us?"

Micah raised his left hand and rubbed his chin, thinking. "I'll stop by while you're having dinner. I've got some things to take care of before then."

"Good," Lucas nodded. "I'll see you later, then." He walked down to the general store where Mark and Harry were staring hungrily at the containers of candy lined up on a counter, and Lou was looking over the list of dry goods he'd given Mark. "Hi, Lou," he said as he walked in. "These two boys giving you any trouble?"

"No," she said in her slight but ever-present Irish accent, "but they've been loitering about for quite some time without buying anything, not even a piece of hard candy between the two of them!"

"They may have to wait a bit longer, then," Lucas said, grinning at her. "They'll spoil their appetites for later if they have any candy now."

Mark turned around. "Pa, can we get some candy for later, after supper?" he asked, hopefully. Harry had turned around as well, looking as hopeful as Mark did.

"I suppose so," Lucas said. "But mind you don't have any until _after_ supper, hear?"

"Yes, Pa," Mark said, and he and Harry went back to discussing what pieces of candy they should get.

"So where did he come from?" Lou asked softly as Lucas stepped closer to the counter, so the boys wouldn't hear. "Mark's little friend?"

"We found him up in the north grove," Lucas answered just as softly. "Says his name is Harry Potter. Ever hear of a kid with that name before?"

"No," Lou said. "Should I have?" she asked.

"Just asking," Lucas said. "If Micah and I don't find someone he belongs to I don't know what we're going to do with him."

"Hmm…" Lou said thoughtfully, staring at the boy as he and Mark debated what candies they should buy for later.

Lucas recognized that tone. "Now don't you get any ideas about keeping him yourself, Lou!"

"Oh? Now you're tellin' me what my business should be?" she said, getting fired up. "I'll thank you to mind your own, Mr. McCain!" She subsided as she and Lucas realized Mark and Harry were staring at them. "And that goes for you, too, Mark McCain! Hasn't your father told you it's impolite to eavesdrop?"

Mark held up a nickel. "I — I was just going to say, me an' Harry figured out what we wanted," he stammered. "But we can come back later…"

"Oh, nonsense," she said, hurrying over to the counter where she kept the candy. She picked out Mark and Harry's selections. "That'll be five cents," she said, accepting Mark's nickel. "Thank you, gentlemen," she said graciously, covering her snappiness earlier.

Mark and Harry both thanked her, then Mark turned to his father. "Pa, can I show Harry around North Fork a while before we eat? We promise not to eat any of the candy," he added hastily.

"All right," Lucas agreed. "We'll meet at the hotel at six o'clock to eat."

"Thanks, Pa!" Mark nudged Harry in the arm and the two boys disappeared out the door. Lou and Lucas watched as they ran across the street and out of view.

"Are you sure that's wise, Lucas, setting those two boy loose on the town like that?" Lou teased.

"They'll be fine," Lucas said. "Besides, if anyone recognizes Harry we might get lucky and find out where he belongs. Oh, by the way," he added. "Mark caught some rabbits today and we wanted to invite you out to have rabbit stew with us tomorrow evening."

Lou smiled at him. "Well, I think that can be arranged, Lucas. I might even bake a pie to bring along with me."

Lucas chuckled. "Mark was thinking of asking you to do just that! How'd you know?"

She smiled enigmatically at him. "Oh, we women have our ways of knowing what men want."

=ooo=

"So what _is_ there to see around here?" Harry asked, looking up and down the main street of North Fork. The Bank of North Fork, across the street from the Marshal's Office and the General Store, was a place he understood, having visited Gringotts several times, as well as the stables down the street, but he didn't know what a "Madera House" or a "Livery" was.

"Well, not much," Mark admitted. "But I wanted you to meet a couple of my friends and maybe show them that trick you do with that stick of yours."

"Oh." That was something Harry didn't want to show around much — it would be hard to explain how he was making water without using real magic. "Well, I can only do that trick once I, uh — I have to get it ready ahead of time."

"Oh," Mark looked disappointed. "Well, can you do any other magic tricks?"

"Um," Harry fidgeted, trying to think of something simple he could show Mark, something that would look like a Muggle illusion. "I'm, er — I'm kind of just learning some new things —"

He stopped as three boys suddenly ran up to them. "Hey, Mark!" the biggest of the three, Tommy, called out just as they reached the pair. "Ain't seen you much this summer! Who's this?" he asked, pointing at Harry.

"This is Harry," Mark said. "We found him out in the woods. Pa's trying to find out who he belongs to."

That was probably not the best thing to say to three bored boys looking for something to do. "Lost, eh?" Tommy smirked at Harry. "Sort of like a lost puppy, aincha?" The other two boys had moved into position around the new kid, surrounding him in preparation for having a bit of fun.

Harry didn't say anything but Mark frowned. "Tommy, you know what I meant! That ain't nice!"

"Hey, what's this?" another boy, Billy, suddenly reached out and grabbed the wand out of Harry's back pocket. Harry reached for it, but Billy backed away from him, holding up the wand for the others to see. "He's carrying around a stick!"

"Give that back!" Harry said, holding out his hand.

"Whyn't you come and get it?" Billy taunted, waving the stick in front of him.

"Give it back!" Mark said loudly, then ran toward Billy to take the stick from him, but Billy threw it to the third boy, Joe.

"Oooh, it's a nice stick," Joe said mockingly. "Maybe I'll just keep it!"

"It's not yours!" Mark shouted. "Give it back!" He started toward Joe, who threw the stick to Tommy. "Give it back, Tommy!" Mark said angrily. "It belongs to Harry!"

"Come on, McCain, it's just a stick," Tommy sneered. "You can pick up dozens of 'em off the side of the road."

"No!" Mark said. "It's like a magic stick! Harry can do tricks with it!"

"Oh, really?" Tommy said scornfully. "Well maybe I'll be able to do a trick with it, too!" He waved it about like a magician's wand. "Hocus pocus! Abracadabra! Presto change-o!"

Mark suddenly reached out and grabbed the wand from Tommy's hand. "Stop it — _what_ —!" Mark and the other boys froze as red sparks shot out of the tip of the wand. Mark instantly dropped the wand as if it were red hot. The three boys turned and ran away as fast as they could.

"What — what happened?" Mark asked, looking at Harry. "What did I do?"

Harry stared at Mark, a very surprised expression on his face. "Mark," he said breathlessly, softly enough that only Mark could hear him, "I think you might be a —"

Lucas and Lou ran up at that moment. "What was that shouting about?" Lucas asked sharply.

"It was Tommy Meadows and a couple of his friends, Pa," Mark answered. "They were picking on Harry."

While Mark was talking Harry crouched down unobtrusively, picked up his wand and stuck it in his back pocket. He hoped Mark wouldn't mention it — it would look suspicious if a fight had started over a _stick_.

"I see," Lucas said. But he could also see there was more to it than that. Mark looked as white as a sheet and Harry had a guilty expression on his face. "But there was something else, wasn't there?" he pressed. "What is it?"

"It's —" but Mark had no idea what to say. He looked at Harry, pleadingly, hoping he would finish what he had been saying. _I might be a — a what_?

Lou, who was watching from behind Lucas, asked, "It's what, Mark?" Mark just shook his head, hoping Harry would answer.

Harry was looking at Mark's expression. His eleventh birthday, the day Hagrid told him he was a wizard, had been the greatest day of his life. All the strange things that had been happening around him for the previous ten years had finally made sense. But he wasn't even entirely sure Mark _was_ a wizard — Harry's wand had sparked when Mark touched it, but Harry had no real idea what that meant. For all he knew it could have been _him_ that made the wand shoot sparks because he saw Mark touch it. What would being a wizard do to Mark?

"Maybe," Harry said quietly, "we should go somewhere private and discuss this."

=ooo=

The marshal's office wasn't exactly what Harry had in mind for privacy, especially with the marshal in the room with them. At least the woman, Lou, had gone back to tend her store. "Alright," Lucas said, very seriously. "Let's hear what's going on."

"Pa, I —" Mark tried to begin, but the tall man held up a hand for silence.

"I want to hear what Harry has to say," Lucas told him.

"Er — this might be something only family should hear," Harry said slowly, looking at Micah, who was standing to one side, arms folded across his chest, listening carefully.

"Micah's like family," Lucas said quietly, and Harry saw a slight smile cross the marshal's face.

"Okay," Harry nodded. He took a deep breath, let it out, then said, "Mark might be a wizard."

Of all the things Harry might have said, those words were not what Lucas and Micah expected. "A _what_?" Lucas said, confused. Micah had pushed his hat back on his head and was scratching it perplexedly.

Mark, however, leaned forward looking very interested. "You mean I can do magic?" he asked. "That was magic you showed me earlier, wasn't it, Harry?"

"Magic? What?" Lucas was looking back and forth between the two boys with concern. "What did he do?" he asked Mark.

"He made water come out of that stick he carries," Mark said, now getting excited. "Can you do it again, Harry? Show them!"

Harry was beginning to panic. He'd wanted to talk to Mark alone, find out whether strange, unusual things had been happening around him like they had around Harry when he was younger. If Mark was really a wizard he had a right to know so he could decide what he should do about it, but blurting out that Harry could do magic had made things a lot more difficult to explain. Lucas McCain had an almost fearful look in his eye; some Muggles believed that magic was evil. And yet, Mark seemed very interested in the idea, and while Harry still had no idea where he was, he had to expect that some Muggles here, wherever he was, would feel the same way. "It's not something we show to many people —"

"So you're saying you _can_ work magic?" Micah cut in, a troubled look on his face. "Real magic, not just illusions and sleight-of-hand? And Mark can do it, too?"

"I can," Harry nodded. "I don't know about Mark yet. My wand sparked when he touched it — that usually means he has the ability to do magic. Like this," he said, pointing his wand at the long object on the marshal's desk and saying, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Lucas's rifle lifted slowly into the air. Mark, Micah and Lucas all stared at it, mesmerized, as it rose to chest level and righted itself. It hung there for several seconds until Lucas reached out, snatching it from the air and levering a cartridge into the firing chamber. He pointed the rifle at Harry.

"That's enough!" he said in a tight, angry tone. "My son is no devil worshipper!"

"Pa, no!" Mark shouted.

"Lucas!" Micah said warningly. "He's just a boy!"

"I don't know what he is!" Lucas hissed. "But anyone who can do things like that … isn't human!"

Harry had taken a step back from Lucas, hands held non-threateningly in front of him. "I'm as human as you are, Mr. McCain. I didn't know I was a wizard until I turned eleven. And being a wizard has nothing to do with any devil — it's just that some people can do it and some can't."

Lucas shook his head, unconvinced. "It's — not — natural!" he spat at Harry, not lowering his rifle. The barrel of the weapon he held jerked toward the door. "You go on, boy — get out of here."

"Pa!" Mark said pleadingly. "No! Please!"

Lucas ignored him. "Go back to where you came from!" he snarled at Harry. "Get out of our lives!"

Harry looked at Mark, then Micah. Mark looked desperate for Harry to stay, but the fierceness of his father's reaction had cowed him into submission. The marshal expression wasn't hostile, but neither was it sympathetic. Too many people here were against him, Harry decided. He slowly backed up until he reached the door of the marshal's office.

"I'll go," he told Lucas. "I guess I understand — it's hard, sometimes, to accept new things. I just hope I can find my way back home." He opened the door a crack and slipped through it and outside, closing it behind him.

Mark started to run forward but a sharp "Mark, _stop_!" from his father halted him in his tracks.

He turned back to Lucas, a defiant expression on his face. "You're wrong, Pa. Harry wasn't bad, I could tell! You keep telling me I have to learn how to accept new things, things that seem different or wrong to me. I guess that doesn't apply to you!"

"This is different, Mark," Lucas said, finally lowering his rifle now that Harry was gone. "Magic is _wrong_ — it's evil, you know that — the Bible tells us not to suffer a witch to live!"

"Suppose it's a different kind of magic?" Mark argued. "Harry said it didn't have anything to do with the devil!"

"That's just what a devil worshipper would say!" Lucas shot back. "Mark, don't argue! You're not to go after that boy or try to find him, you hear me?"

Mark looked angry, but finally gave a small, reluctant nod. "I _said_," Lucas pressed. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes, Pa," Mark gritted out. "I hear you."

"Good. Now go wait in the buckboard. After I talk to Micah we're going home."

"But what about dinner with Lou —" Mark spoke before thinking. It was not the right thing to do at that moment.

"Don't argue!" Lucas growled. "Do as I say!"

Mark turned and yanked open the office door, slamming it shut behind him.

Lucas finally relaxed a bit, turning to his friend Micah. "Did I do the right thing, Micah?" he asked.

"I don't know," Micah answered honestly. "I don't know if I can believe a boy like that could be a devil worshipper."

"I don't know, either," Lucas agreed. "But you saw what he did with my rifle! I couldn't take the chance!"

"The question is," Micah said thoughtfully, "if he isn't, if that was just a magician's trick, we've turned away a young boy in need of help. And if he _is_, what have we let loose among us?"

Lucas had no answer for that. He shook his head, then walked out of the office leaving Micah by himself. Micah sighed, trying to decide what to do next, then picked up his hat and walked out onto the sidewalk just in time to see Lucas and Mark drive away in their buckboard. Mark was leaning as far away from his father as he could and still stay in his seat.

Micah took a deep breath the walked down to the livery where he kept his horse. Maybe he would take a ride up toward that grove of Lucas's, see if he could find anything of interest up there. And if, along the way, he happened to find young Harry Potter, well… they'd see what happened then.

=ooo=

_A few minutes earlier — _

Harry closed the door to the marshal's office, then turned and walked quickly down the wooden sidewalk toward the end of town. What would he do now? He had no idea, but perhaps he should go back to where the McCains found him and look around, see what he could find out —

"And now where are you off to in such an all-fired hurry?" a woman's voice spoke from behind him. Harry stopped and turned. It was the woman from the general store, Lou Mallory. She had come outside her shop and was giving Harry a quizzical look. "Aren't you having supper with Mark and his father?"

"No," Harry shook his head.

"And why not?" Lou put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a penetrating stare, as if she expected him to answer.

"Mr. McCain asked me to leave town," Harry replied honestly.

"Whatever for?" Lou demanded.

"It's — kind of complicated," Harry said, not wanting to explain further.

Lou looked toward the marshal's office, then stepped out of the doorway. She pointed inside. "Come with me," she said.

Harry hesitated. What did she want with him. "Hurry up!" Lou insisted.

Harry shrugged and walked into the store. Lou came in behind him, pulling the door closed after her. A moment later they heard the door to the marshal's office slam. "Get in the back room," Lou urged, pointing to another door, and Harry ducked into the room.

Lou was watching through the store windows. "If Lucas comes in here just stay quiet and let me talk to him — I want to know why he's trying to send you away!"

They could hear Lucas's footsteps down the sidewalk as he strode toward the general store. Lou put her hands on her hips, ready to confront Lucas the moment he came through her door. But instead of coming into the store, Lucas jumped into his buckboard sitting between the general store and Micah's office and drove away. Lou watched them disappear, then walked into the back room where Harry was waiting.

"Lucas looked upset as he was leaving," she told him. "What happened that got him in such a state?"

"I don't know," Harry said, not wanting to explain.

"Oh, of course you do, Harry Potter," she said sternly. "Don't try to kid a kidder. Tell me what happened." Then her expression softened. "Go on, then. I'll do my best to understand, whatever it is."

There was a compelling quality to her voice that inspired Harry to trust her. "I can — do things most people can't do," he told her.

"You mean," Lou said pointedly, "with that wand in your back pocket?"

Shocked, Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out for several second. Finally he blurted, "You _know_ about wands?"

"Yes, I know about them," she said evenly. "What year were you born?" she asked suddenly.

The question took Harry by surprise. "Um, 1980," he said, uncertainly.

"Interesting. Do you know what year this is?" Lou asked. Harry shook his head. "It's August 1885," she told him.

"Er …" that left Harry speechless once again. It was over a hundred years ago according to that date! "I, uh, meant to say eighteen —"

"Oh, tosh," she snapped, dismissing the lie he was about to tell. "I know what you said, my lad." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Come with me," she said, leading him into the back room of the store, where they took a staircase up to the next floor, stopping on a small landing in front of a closed door.

"Do you know how to open a locked door, Harry?" she asked him. Harry didn't answer. What did she expect him to do — say "hocus pocus" and have the door fly open on its own —

"Let me show you," she said, reaching into the apron she was wearing and pulling out — a wand?! Harry stared in shocked silence as she pointed it at the lock and said, "_Alohomora_!" The lock _clicked_ loudly and she turned the knob, opening it and gesturing for Harry to go in. Giving her a perplexed look, Harry stepped into the room.

The room inside was very different than he'd expected. It was wide and spacious, much bigger than it should actually be, and Harry knew immediately that it had been expanded magically. The walls were covered in bright wallpaper and numerous portraits, all of them moving. The furniture was ornately carved and very expensive looking, with a large divan, a pair of sitting chairs, and numerous tables of various sizes scattered about the room, with lamps and knick-knacks spread over many of them. The carpet on the floor was thick and soft, whiter than Harry though a carpet could be. And along one wall —

Harry nearly gasped when he recognized the shelves filled with magical books of all shapes and sizes. Some of them he remembered from the Restricted Section at the Hogwarts Library. There must be a thousand books here! All this could mean only one thing. Harry turned to Lou —

"Yes," she said before he could speak. "I'm a witch, Harry. No, nobody here knows — not even Lucas." She smiled wryly. "As I suspect you've learned, he is not very tolerant of things that are beyond his understanding."

"But —" did she realize that— "Did you know Mark might be —"

"A wizard?" she finished. She smiled at him. "Yes, I knew," she said. "I've checked everyone in town to see if there were any more of us here. He's the only one I've found."

"Why haven't you told him what he is?" Harry asked her.

Lou motioned for him to sit. Harry seated himself in one of the chairs, and she took the one beside it. "I'm not sure it's my place to do that. There's no place out here for him to learn how to be a wizard, no one to teach him except me, and it would be hard for him to learn without a wand."

Harry hadn't thought of that. "It just seems like a waste," he said unhappily.

"I agree," Lou nodded. "I've wanted to tell him, and to help him find a wand and learn as much as he could about magic. He might have gone to a magical school back east. But it might be better if the boy never knows what he's capable of. On top of that, I'm not sure how Mark or his father would react if they knew I was a witch."

"He seems to like you," Harry offered. "Mark, I mean."

"Oh, he does, and I like him, and his father, too," Lou replied, smiling wanly. "But I haven't been in town very long, and I didn't make many friends when I first came here. I knew the railroad would be coming through here, and I sold my business in Denver and came out to North Fork to make some more money. Some people here still aren't too happy about me doing that. I can't take the chance that they might accidentally tell someone about me."

Harry gave her a quizzical look. "You don't need a lot of money, though, do you?" he asked. "I mean, if you know magic —"

"Magic isn't everything, Harry," she said with a shrug. "There's not much fun in taking advantage of people when you can do things they aren't capable of doing themselves. Besides," she added with an impish grin, "it's more fun to take advantage of them in way they _can_ understand!" Harry just nodded, though he didn't quite understand her point.

"Well," she said, her manner turning brisk. "If we're going to figure out how you got here maybe you should tell me everything that happened just before you found yourself in our time."

"I don't know how I ended up here," Harry explained. "I was walking home with my cousin, Dudley. He's a Muggle, by the way — I stay with my aunt and uncle during the summer holiday. We were —" Harry shrugged "I guess we were arguing with each other when things went — _strange_, around us."

"How do you mean?" Lou asked, curious.

"Things went completely black around us," Harry replied. "Black — and cold. Dudley thought I was doing it, but it was — it was —"

"Dementors," Lou finished. Harry looked at her in surprise, then nodded.

"Yes," he said. "Two of them. My cousin knocked me down and ran away, but I finally cast my Patronus —"

"_You_ cast a Patronus?" Lou interrupted, surprised. "At _your_ age? How old are you, anyway?"

"I just turned fifteen," Harry said, a little defensively. "And I've been able to cast a Patronus for over a year now. My Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin, taught me."

"So you go to Hogwarts, then?" Lou asked. Harry nodded again. "Who's the Head there now?"

"It's, er, Albus Dumbledore," Harry replied.

"I've heard of the Dumbledores," Lou nodded. "Bit full of himself, that man is."

Harry looked confused. "You've _met_ Albus Dumbledore?"

"Oh, heavens no!" Lou laughed. "I meant Percival Dumbledore! He was a few years ahead of me in school. He was quite the ladies' man, or so he fancied himself." She started to say something else, but suddenly shook her head. "Anyway," she went on quickly, "we're getting away from your story, Harry. What happened after you cast your Patronus?"

"I chased the Dementor away," Harry continued, "then I went after Dudley. The other Dementor was attacking him, trying to Kiss him —" Harry saw Lou's involuntary shudder; she'd obviously had dealings with Dementors herself. "I sent my Patronus after it and it flew away as well…" Harry stopped talking, a look of both confusion and concentration on his face.

"What happened next?" Lou pressed.

Harry cocked his head, trying to remember. "I'm not sure," he said. "The stars came back, I remember that… I could see normally again. But then something — hit me." Harry reached around, touching his back where the sensation of something striking him had left a memory in the corner of his mind. "I fell over and couldn't move, and everything went black again."

Lou frowned and pointed her wand at him. A moment later she said, "Looks like someone Stunned you," she said matter-of-factly. "Were there any other witches or wizards with you or your family?"

"Oh, no," Harry said firmly, shaking his head. "My aunt and uncle barely want _me_ in their house!"

"What else do you remember?" Lou asked.

"Nothing else," Harry said. "I woke up surrounded by a bunch of trees, and I heard people talking — I guess that was Mark and Mr. McCain — so I got closer to see who they were. Then they saw me, and Mr. McCain came into the forest and got me. I had no idea where I was and I didn't want to make any trouble, so I came with them."

"It's a pretty problem," Lou said, looking very thoughtful. "You're quite a long ways from England now, you know."

"_And_ it's 1885," Harry added for good measure. "So just where am I now?"

"Here," Lou said, walking over a large pedestal globe of the world. She put her finger on England, then traced a path across the ocean to where North America was, stopping on an unremarkable area labeled "New Mexico Territory." "As you can see, you're quite a ways from your home."

"But how could this have happened?" Harry asked her, desperation beginning to creep into his voice. "That's thousands of miles and over a hundred years in the past! What kind of magic could do something like that?"

"Nothing I know of," Lou admitted, shaking her head. "We may have to write someone and ask for help, if you've any chance of getting back home."

"Who can we write?" Harry wondered. "Hogwarts is in Scotland, Beauxbatons is in France and Durmstrang is somewhere in Romania," he said, listing the magic schools he knew about. "Any of those places is an awful long way for an owl to fly!"

"There's a school in America, too," Lou reminded him. "The Salem Witches' Institute, in Salem Massachusetts."

"Oh," Harry said. He suddenly recollected the group of witches he'd seen at the camp for the Quidditch World Cup, sitting below a banner that read THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE. "Oh, yeah. Where's that at, then?"

"It's only about 1500 miles from here — we could have an owl off to them and back in a week or so."

"A week?" Harry repeated, nonplussed. "What'll I do until then?"

"Hmm." Lou regarded him shrewdly. "Well, school begins next Monday — I suppose you could go there for a few days until we hear back from the Institute — assuming they even answer our owl in the first place."

That panicked Harry a little. "And what if they don't?"

"Well, I suppose you could just stay here," Lou suggested. "It would be nice having someone else around who knows about magic." She was giving him an almost wistful look. "Would that be so bad, Harry?"

_Yes_! Harry wanted to say. His friends, his life, were back in the future — he didn't want to live in America a hundred years before he was born! He would be all alone here! "I —"

But, he suddenly realized, this woman, Lou Mallory, was all alone here as well, with no one like her around for who knows how far. He didn't want to hurt her feelings by suggesting he didn't want to be here. "I — er," Harry swallowed and started again. "I, I would like to stay around here and keep you company, Miss Mallory, but I feel out of place here. I don't know anything about the customs here or how things work. I'm afraid I might mess things up for you."

Lou smiled. "Aren't you sweet?" she said, touching his cheek. "Very considerate for a boy of your tender years." Harry felt his face starting to go red. "You know," she went on, "a lot of wizards in your place would expect any witch around to wait on them hand and foot, but I suppose things are different where you come from?" Harry nodded, not sure what to say to that. It seemed like witches were still more subservient to wizards than Muggle women were to Muggle men in his time, but he wasn't going to mention anything like that.

"I'll get to work on that letter after I close the store down for the evening," Lou said. "Then you and I can go have a nice dinner over at Madera House. I've got a new girl working in the kitchen — she's about your age, I think. And if you don't mind, I'll have you help the staff afterwards. They can always use an extra pair of hands cleaning up."

"Okay," Harry nodded slowly. "But what if someone like the marshal sees me and recognizes me? I don't think he wanted me around any more than Mr. McCain did."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Lou said with an airy wave of her hand. "I can fix things so they won't recognize you."

Fix things? Harry wondered what _that_ meant. But before he could ask, Lou had glanced over at a large, ornate grandfather clock standing against one of the walls of the room. "Oh, look at the time, will you?! It's nearly six o'clock, time to close already! Well, come along, young Harry, you can help me lock the doors and sweep up before we get something to eat."

=ooo=

After the store had been dusted and swept (which went a lot quicker with Lou enchanting a broom to sweep out the back while Harry handled the front by hand) Lou took him back upstairs and had him change his T-shirt, jeans and trainers for clothing more appropriate to the time and place, as well as being cleaner than his old ones.

Looking at himself in a full-length mirror, Harry had to admit he looked a lot better now than he had before — his jeans were clean and new now, and fit him much better than Dudley's old hand-me-downs had. The shirt was new, too, though Harry had some trouble with the fasteners, they weren't the same as using buttons. And his new footwear — he hadn't been sure about wearing boots, but he decided the ones she'd given him suited him just fine.

"Well, don't you make a fine, strapping young man!" Lou said when he walked back into her front room. "Any girl in North Fork would be proud to be seen with you, Harry!"

"Thanks," Harry grinned. It did feel nice to be dressed in clean clothes that actually fit him. "Are we going over to eat, now?" He was beginning to feel rather hungry — he hadn't eaten anything in what felt like over a day now.

"We are," Lou said, studying him carefully. "But first, I think, we need to make you look a bit less like you." She took out her wand.

Five minutes later Harry was staring at "James Mallory" in the mirror, the name that he and Lou had come up with rather than continue to call himself Harry Potter. "James" was a cousin of Lou's who had ridden into town earlier that day on a visit from Denver. He had blond hair, though it was every bit as unruly as Harry's had been, and wore round wire-frame glasses instead of the horn-rimmed pair Harry normally sported. The heels on the boots also made him a couple of inches taller. "I don't know if this is going to convince anyone," he said, doubtfully. He could still see much of himself in the face that stared back at him from the mirror.

"Oh, tosh," Lou scoffed. "Only a few people even saw you as Harry Potter! Lucas, Mark, Micah, and those little ragamuffins who teased you. You'll do just fine. Now, let's go eat."

She led him down the stairs and outside through a back door to the shop, into an alleyway that took them out into a side road where they could see Madera House just up the way. "Now I'll get you squared away so you can eat," she told him quietly as they walked toward the hotel. "I've got to make sure things are running smoothly. I'll try and join you later."

"You're not eating with me?" Harry asked, concerned. What if he did or said something wrong?

"I'm sure you can feed yourself, Harry lad," she told him evenly. "Or should I say, James lad. Don't trouble yourself — you'll do fine."

She led him into the dining room, to a table near the back, and raised a hand to call one of the waitresses over. "This is my cousin James," she told the young lady. "Get him whatever he wants — we'll be putting him to work later in the kitchen."

"Yes, ma'am," the waitress, a young, blonde-haired girl, nodded. Lou gave Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder then hurried out of the room.

"Good evening, James," the waitress said pleasantly, pulling a pad and a pencil out of her apron. "Do you know what you'd like to eat?"

"Um." Harry had no idea what he should order. At Hogwarts there was always a vast selection of items on the tables during meal times. In contrast, on Privet Drive he was hardly allowed anything to eat unless he snuck it out of the refrigerator late at night. "What do you have?" he finally asked.

The waitress went into her recitation. "Well, we have steak, chicken, beef stew, and you can get potatoes, beans, corn on the cob, peas. Oh, and we have apple or cherry pie for dessert, or peach or blueberry cobbler, thought the cobbler's made with canned peaches and blueberries, not fresh like the pies are."

"What's good?" Harry asked.

"Well, _all_ of it's good," the waitress said, frowning at the question. "Lou wouldn't serve anything unless it was good."

"Well, I meant —" Harry decided not to press the point. "Can I have some steak and some potatoes and beans."

"How do you want your steak?" the waitress asked.

That was a strange question, Harry thought. "Cooked," he said.

The waitress gave him an impatient glare. "I know that, silly," she said with an irritated sigh. "I _meant_, how do you want it cooked — rare, medium, or well done?"

There were never any questions like this at Hogwarts. The steaks were always cooked just right for them. Harry shrugged and went for the middle choice. "Medium, I guess," he said.

"Very good," the waitress said, scribbling on the pad in her hand. "How do you want the potatoes, baked, boiled, fried or mashed?"

"Er — fried, I guess," Harry answered. More scribbling on the pad.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Some pumpkin juice," Harry said without thinking, then winced as he realized Muggles didn't normally drink that. "Er — I meant, milk."

"Milk it is," the waitress said after giving him a curious look. "I'll have that for you in just a few minutes." She smiled and hurried off through a doorway into the kitchen area.

Harry shook his head, not sure how he should process that conversation, then decided to ignore it for now and take in his surroundings. The room he was in was about half-full of people seated in groups of one, two, and three or four people. When he'd entered most of them had been eating or talking with one another. Now, he saw, many of them were glancing or gesturing in his direction.

Harry was no stranger to being whispered about. In fact it almost felt more unusual for people _not_ to whisper and point at him in his presence. So he did what he usually did at Hogwarts — he ignored them and went about his business as best he could.

There was a cloth-covered basket in the middle of the table. Harry peeked beneath the cloth and discovered slices of bread, rolls and some crackers. And there was a dish of butter sitting next to it. Harry spread butter on a slice of bread and pretended to enjoy eating it while everyone's attention slowly shifted away from him back to the meals in front of them. By his third slice of bread, Harry was beginning to wish he had some milk to wash it down.

The waitress was coming back to his table, a plate of food and a glass of milk in her hands. "Here you are," she said, setting the plate and glass down in front of him. "I hope you enjoy them. Do you mind if I join you?"

_Huh_?

The waitress sat down without waiting for him to reply. "Actually," she said, "Lou told me to take a supper break and keep you company." She smiled sweetly. "I hope you don't mind. My name's Lorrie, by the way." She extended her hand toward him.

Harry's hand moved of its own accord, taking hers and shaking it. "Pleased to meet you, Lorrie," he heard himself say. "My name is, er, James, um, Mallory."

"Pleased to meet you, er-James um-Mallory," she said, and giggled. "Lou told me you were her cousin. Are you first or second cousins?"

"Uh, yes," Harry stammered.

"Well, which is it? First or second?"

"Um…" Harry stammered again. _Pick one_! his brain shrieked. "Er, second."

Lorrie giggled again. "Are you sure?" she asked, teasing.

"I'm sure," Harry nodded, his brain finally catching up with his mouth. "Sorry, it's just been a long ride and I'm a bit tired." _Turn it around_, his brain advised him. _Girls like to talk about themselves_. Both Ron and Hermione had imparted this bit of wisdom to him. "How long have you been working for Lou?"

"Oh, about a month now — thank you!" she added as another waitress brought her plate out to her. "Thank goodness, I'm famished!" She had two pieces of fried chicken, a small amount of mashed potatoes and gravy, and mounds of peas and a corn on the cob on her plate, and a large glass of water. "I really like working for Lou, I'm learning a lot about doing things in the kitchen. I think that's real important for a woman to know how to do, don't you, James?" Harry nodded agreement.

"My ma and pa settled here about a year ago," Lorrie went on, eating more than talking. We came from Denver, too — did you know that? We knew Lou up in Denver, too, she owned a nice saloon there — it was called the Gold Slipper as I recollect. I wasn't allowed in there of course but my pa was. I don't think he ever mentioned anyone by the name of James Mallory, though." She was giving Harry a curious look. "Isn't that a little strange, James? My pa never met you or even heard of you in all the times he went into that bar."

"Well…" Harry was busy trying to cut into the steak he'd been given. It was surprisingly tough; at Hogwarts you could cut the steaks with a butter knife! "I guess it's because I _came_ here from Denver, but I'm not from Denver myself."

"Well, I can tell _that_," Lorrie sniffed. "You have an accent, after all."

"Well, of course…" Harry agreed, still distracted by the toughness of his meat. His plate suddenly slid away from him. "What —"

"Don't you know how to cut a steak, James?" Lorrie was giving him a reproachful look as she pulled his plate in front of her. She picked up a knife next to her plate and began cutting his into pieces. "Don't use your butter knife, it's not sharp enough. There you go!" She pushed the plate back toward him; his steak was cut into a dozen pieces.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, embarrassed to have a girl cut up his food.

Lorrie began chattering over her meal again. "You'll like North Fork, James, it's such a nice little town, nothing at all like Denver. There's a school here and the railroad will be coming through soon! Lou is friends with one of the well-known citizens here, Lucas McCain. Have you met him or his son, Mark?"

"Er — not yet," Harry hedged, talking around the meat and potatoes in his mouth.

"Mark's nice, I've gone riding with him a couple of times," Lorrie went on airily. "Maybe _we_ could go riding sometime as well, James. Do you think?"

Harry stopped in mid-chew. He'd ridden broomsticks, he'd ridden a hippogriff. But he'd never really ridden a horse before, other than the trip back to the McCain ranch behind Mark. "Ah — er, sure, that'd be fun," he said without thinking. _Oh great_, he told himself. _Now you've done it_! Bloody hell, what a fix he'd got himself in!

"Swell!" Lorrie smiled brightly and patted him on the hand. She suddenly stood. "Well, I've got to get back to work. Do you want some pie or cobbler for dessert?"

"Sure," Harry's voice took over for him again. "Some apple pie would be swell." Swell? What did that even _mean_ here?

"Okay, I'll be right back with some! See you, James!" Lorrie hurried away, back into the kitchen.

Harry sighed to himself and went back to eating his meal. The week couldn't pass quickly enough for that letter to Salem Institute to get back to Lou! In the meantime, Harry would lay low, do whatever chores Lou asked of him, and keep out of sight.

"Hello, young man," a familiar voice above him said. Harry looked up into the face of Micah Torrence. _Oh crap_. "I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Marshal Torrence."

Micah looked at him expectantly, waiting for a response. "Hello, Marshal," Harry said, standing up and holding out his hand, as he expected a proper young man here in America would. "I'm James Mallory, Miss Mallory's cousin. I just arrived from Denver today."

"Oh?" Micah raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't remember seeing you get off the stagecoach earlier."

"I rode in on my own," Harry replied, using Lou's story.

"Oh, is your horse over at the livery?" the marshal asked him.

"Er, I don't know what Lou did with it," Harry said quickly. "She said she'd take care of it."

"Hmm," Micah looked around the room. "I see. Well, I'll talk to her later." He turned back to Harry. "By the way, on your ride today did you happen to see a young boy, black hair and glasses, walking along the road to Denver?"

"Er, no," Harry said, then decided to embellish that a bit. "Well, I saw someone sitting under a tree a ways off the road, but —" he pointed at his own glasses. "I can't see very far anyway."

"I understand," Micah said, then chuckled. "Well, thanks, James," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's good to meet a relative of Miss Mallory's." He reached up and tousled Harry's hair. "Have a good dinner." He turned and walked out of the dining room.

Brushing his hair back into a semblance of order, Harry sat back down and resumed his meal. Could he get just a few minutes alone to finish eating in peace?

"Well there you are!" _Apparently not_, Harry told himself. Lou had just come into the room from the kitchen. "How's the food?"

"Just fine," Harry said with a smile he did not feel. "I'll let you know as soon as I get a good bite of it."

"Well, James," Lou laughed softly though her voice carried around the room. "You're new in town and you're my cousin — you've got to expect a fair amount of curiosity from the good folks who live here, you know."

Leaning closer, she said much more softly. "There, that should stop most of them botherin' you now that they think they know who you are."

"I hope so," Harry muttered. "We'll see if I can fool Mark and Mr. McCain."

"You'll do fine," Lou said confidently. "Just don't go looking for trouble with them and you'll be all right — Ah! Look who's here, an' with dessert to boot!"

Lorrie had come up to the table with a slice of apple pie, with cheese melted over the top of it, and set it down on the table in front of Harry. "Hi, Miss Mallory," she said as she stepped back. "James and I had a nice dinner together," she said, beaming at both of them. "We're going to go riding sometime this weekend."

"Are you now?" Lou said, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "That should be fun," she said, winking at Lorrie as she walked away.

"See you tomorrow!" Lorrie said, then ran back into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with his dessert.

"Right," Harry sighed to himself. "I'm doomed."

=ooo=

Conversation at the McCain home that evening had been short and uncomfortable. Mark and Lucas each did their kitchen chores with a minimum of talking. With no homework Mark had only a few chores to finish before bed, such as bringing in enough firewood for breakfast the next morning, and sweeping out their bedroom and the front room.

Meanwhile, Lucas had occupied himself with reading the Bible. The incident with the Potter boy that morning had deeply bothered him — he was afraid Mark could be influenced by the lure of wrong thinking. He had done his best to teach his son the straight and narrow path of godliness, but it didn't take much to draw him away — Lucas had seen that several times over the years, though Mark had always listened to him up until now.

The timepiece on the mantle (a gift from Lou) chimed nine o'clock and Lucas shut his Bible with a sigh. "About time for bed, son," he said quietly. He'd noted Mark's silence through dinner, and knew his son wasn't pleased with how he'd treated the Potter boy, but nothing could be done about that now.

"Yes, Pa," Mark muttered, putting down the school book he'd been looking through. Last year's mathematics book, Lucas noted; Mark must've been _very_ upset if he preferred looking through that book to talking to him!

Mark started toward the bedroom door, but stopped with his hand on the handle. "Pa?" he said tentatively, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, son — what is it?"

"Do you really think a witch is going to hell when they die?"

"The Good Book says so, Mark," Lucas pointed out. "That's what we have to believe."

"Would you really kill someone who was a witch?" Mark went on. Lucas could see where his questions were leading.

"If that person threatened us, I would," Lucas nodded. "The same as if someone threatened to shoot us."

"And what if it just turned out to be a magic trick?"

"A threat is still a threat, son," Lucas pointed out. "I would have to take it seriously."

Mark was looking at him very seriously now. "What if — what if I turn out to be what Harry said — a wizard? Isn't that like a witch who's a boy?"

"You're _not_ a wizard, Mark," Lucas said firmly. "Harry was wrong about that."

"But," Mark argued, "what if I _was_ a wizard and don't know it, like Harry said —"

"Mark, I SAID, YOU'RE NOT LIKE THAT!" Lucas bellowed, and Mark flinched back. "Look, son," Lucas said, more calmly than he felt, "I think Harry was just trying to impress you with the idea of being a wizard or a witch — whatever he calls himself — he must've done something to my rifle to make it float in mid-air, a magician's trick."

"But — the water from his wand," Mark pressed. "When I held his wand, Pa, I realized it wasn't hollow — he _couldn't_ have poured water out of it!"

"He probably switched wands when you weren't looking, son," Lucas said, trying to explain away the incident as a trick — he didn't want Mark seduced into believing in magic whether it was real or not.

"Do you really think so, Pa?" Mark wasn't sure whether to accept his father's explanation or not.

Lucas nodded firmly. "Yes, that's what I think," he said. "Now let's get to bed — I should go apologize to Lou tomorrow for leaving without telling her why. And maybe we can fix that rabbit stew to make up for it."

"Alright, Pa." Mark went into the bedroom and changed into his nightshirt. Even though the day had been hot, the temperature had cooled down enough at night that nightclothes and a light blanket were comfortable for sleeping.

His father came in a few minutes later and put on his nightclothes as well, then slipped into bed and waited for Mark to say goodnight. But Mark wasn't in a very communicative mood tonight — he pretended to be asleep. After a few minutes Lucas sighed and turned on his side, sleep rapidly coming over his weary, troubled mind.

=ooo=

**A/N: This is the first Harry Potter / Rifleman crossover on fanfiction dot net, as far as I can tell. I made it an explicit crossover so it would be easier to find. Harry has found himself over a hundred years in the past and thousands of miles from his home in England. How did he end up this far in the past and so far away from home? And who was the person staring at him from the woods where Lucas McCain found him? This will be a tricky puzzle to solve since Time Turners cannot send someone more than a few hours into the past — how far back that may be was never explained in the novels. Also, as far as we know, there are no other known methods of time travel in the Harry Potter universe. **


	2. Ride 'Em, Wizard!

**Chapter Two  
****Ride 'Em, Wizard!****  
**

_Updated_ 8/2/2013

=ooo=

"I'm not sure why you're complaining about this, Harry," Lou told him in a matter-of-fact tone. "I mean, James," she added, glancing at the stable hand who was walking away after bringing over the horse Harry was going to ride that day. "You had your chance to tell her 'no' last night and you didn't."

"I know," Harry said dully, wishing he could be just about anywhere but _here_ at the moment. "Here" was in the North Fork livery stable and Harry was staring up at a saddle that was strapped to a horse that towered over him; even the saddle was above the top of his head. And this was _after_ his summer growth spurt!

"Well, you rode with Mark, didn't you?" Lou reminded him. "You did okay then, right?"

"All I did was sit behind Mark," Harry said, beginning to breathe harder in anticipation of the ordeal he was about to go through. Somehow, someway, he was going to have to climb up on this horse. And once he was up there, that was only the beginning! After he got on the horse, he was going to have to go for a ride with Lorrie, the young waitress who had taken his dinner order at the hotel last night and chatted with him while he ate.

Somehow, during that conversation, Lorrie had invited him to go for a ride with her, and Harry, against his brain's better judgment, had agreed to go. Whatever had possessed him to say "yes" he didn't know, but he'd supposedly ridden a horse all the way down from Denver so he couldn't back out today — Saturday, after Lou had given him a note Lorrie had left saying they could ride after she finished her morning chores and had lunch with her parents.

Harry took several deep breaths, then stuck his foot in the saddle's stirrup and heaved himself upward. He fell onto the saddle, then managed to lever his right leg over to the other side and right himself so he was sitting in the saddle.

Lou was beaming at him. "Very good! Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I guess not," Harry admitted, though he still felt like a fish out of water. "Er — how do I make it go?"

Lou took the reins that Harry had left slung across the horse's neck. "First, let's get you out into the corral where you can ride him around a bit before Lorrie gets here. With any luck you'll get the hang of it before too long…" she gave a little shrug. "I just wish I had a wee bit of Felix Felicis for you."

"What's that?" Harry asked. "I've never heard of — of Felix Fewhatsis before."

"Never mind," Lou said quickly. "Here." She handed the reins up to Harry. "To get him going shake the reins a bit." She pantomimed the gesture for him and Harry copied her hand motions. The reared, throwing Harry off its back and began bucking and running around the corral as one of the livery hands ran to catch it.

Harry hauled himself painfully to his feet as Lou dusted him off. "That's the basic idea," she said briskly. "But try to stay on the next time."

"Right," he snorted, giving Lou an irritated glare, which only made her giggle. "Oh, thank you very much for laughing!" he snapped at her.

"Sorry!" she said, leaning down to dust off his jeans a bit more. Harry endured the somewhat inappropriate touching — maybe Lou didn't realize she was swiping her hand across his backside. "I didn't mean to — but it was funny, you must admit —"

"Sure," Harry said sourly, stepping away from Lou as she finished dusting him off. "A regular barrel of laughs." Harry looked around; the livery hand was still chasing his horse, so he moved back toward Lou and asked in a low voice, "Did you write the letter to that school yet?"

"Aye," Lou said, lowering her voice as well. "As soon as I can get an owl I'll send it off."

"What d'you mean?" Harry didn't understand. "I thought you had an owl!"

"Of course I don't!" Lou said indignantly. "How normal would it look, a businesswoman like me keeping an owl as a pet? People would think I'm daft or something!"

"Then how are we going to get that letter to the Salem Institute?" Harry asked, desperation beginning to tinge his voice. "You're—you're not going to use — er, Muggle mail, are you?" How long would _that_ take, Harry wondered to himself.

"Don't be silly, Harry," Lou shook her head, dismissing Harry's question. "I've cast the spell to summon an owl — one should show up in a night or two."

"Really?" Harry had never heard of a spell like that. "Couldn't you just buy one?"

"Well, not around _here_," Lou said matter-of-factly. "And when I went to Hogwarts they were bloody expensive at Diagon Alley. My ma and pa would go out and summon owls from the forest when we were little, it was a lot less expensive than — _shhh_! Here comes the stable hand."

The livery hand had caught the horse and was bringing it back to Harry, a doubtful look on his face. Whether it was because he thought Harry wouldn't be able to ride the horse or he'd seen Lou half-grope him, Harry wasn't sure. But he did know the rule about getting back on a horse if you fell off, and that probably applied literally as well as figuratively.

Harry climbed up in the saddle and jiggled the reins again, more gently this time. The horse started forward, and after wobbling around in the saddle a bit as the horse walked around the corral he started to get the hang of guiding it where he wanted to go. After riding around the corral several times he called out to Lou, "How do I make it stop?"

The livery hand put his face in his hand and shook his head sadly. "Just pull back on the reins!" Lou called. Harry tried that and jerked forward as the horse abruptly stopped; fortunately, he was stopped from flying over the horse's head by the saddle. Unfortunately, it was the horn of the saddle in his groin that did the stopping.

"Ouch," Harry whispered painfully as he pushed back from the horn. A few more times around the corral would probably help — _after_ he'd had a few minutes to rest and let the pain in his crotch subside. But —

"Hi, Harry!" Lorrie waved at him as she rode up on her own horse. "Ready for our ride?"

"Not really," Harry muttered to himself, but he waved back at her. He leaned down toward Lou, who had walked over to hold his horse while he recovered from his sudden stop. "Tell me I have to be back in an hour," he whispered desperately, hoping he could cut short his riding time with Lorrie.

"Why, certainly, James," Lou said in a loud voice. "Take as much time on your ride as you want. Just be sure and get Lorrie back tonight by five; she's working in the dining room tonight, and so are you, don't forget!"

Harry sat up in the saddle, a tight smile on his face. "Thanks, cousin Lou," he said, irony in his voice that he hoped only Lou could detect. "I'm sure we'll have a swell time."

"Oh, I'm sure you both will," Lou said brightly, opening the corral gate so Harry could go on his riding outing with Lorrie. "Have a good time, both of you!"

"We will!" Lorrie shouted back, then urged her horse into a fast walk. "Come on, Harry, I'll race you!"

"Uh, wait a minute!" Harry protested, but Lorrie seemed not to hear. She spurred her horse and it went to a gallop as Lorrie let out a whoop of joy.

"Well, get after her, James!" Lou said, then smacked his horse on the rump. The horse whinnied and began running after the first horse, and Harry had barely a moment to give her a smoking glare before all of his attention was focused on not falling off his galloping steed. "There," she said smugly to herself. "That should give him a lesson in horseriding." Waving at the Nils, the blacksmith whose shop was set up next to the livery, she went back to make sure the general store was running smoothly in her absence.

=ooo=

Micah Torrance rode slowly down the road that led into Willow Springs, hungry and tired from the morning's ride. He'd been to the north end of the McCain property on the lookout for the Potter boy, then searched the surrounding area along the trails that led or around the grove of woods. There was no sign of anyone walking from North Fork back this way, unless the boy had taken to wandering off the road. Or had gotten lost, which was cause for concern.

Whatever Micah thought about someone claiming to be able to perform the black arts, he had a duty to protect people within his jurisdiction. He'd been wrong to let Lucas send the boy away, Micah thought with regret, but he'd been too apprehensive at the time to stop him. Now he was paying for that apprehension by being 20 miles from home and bed, tired and worn from the midday heat, with a tired horse that needed feeding and watering, as did he. He needed a few hours of rest before he headed back home to North Fork.

Willow Springs wasn't as big as North Fork had become in the past few years, Micah noticed as he made his way down the main street. In the noontime heat most people were off the streets; the only sounds he was hearing was coming from the town's one saloon, aptly named "Saloon."

A man emerged from between two buildings carrying a shotgun, and Micah's left hand went automatically to the gun on his hip, but it was only the town's sheriff, Clete Masterson. Clete was a handsome young fellow who wore a bowler hat and a handlebar mustache. He liked to tell folks he was related to Bat Masterson. Whether that was true or not, it didn't really matter to Micah; all that mattered to him was whether Clete took proper care of the citizens in Willow Springs.

"Evening, Micah," Clete said as drew near to where Micah had stopped his horse to look around. "Sorry if I surprised you — I wasn't expecting you in town tonight."

"Howdy, Clete," Micah nodded at the younger man. "I didn't expect to be here either. I've been out searching for a young man Lucas McCain found on the north end of his property. He left town last night and I thought he might have come back this way. Anyone come into town in the past day or so?"

Clete thought for a moment, one hand tugging absently on the tips of his mustache. "I got some posters earlier this week about Ezra Cowley and his gang robbing a bank in West Texas a week or so ago. The posters said they might have crossed into New Mexico Territory to slip the posses that were after them."

"I see," Micah said, with some concern. He'd received a parcel on the stagecoach the other day, the day the Potter boy came into town with the McCains, but he'd never gotten around to checking it. "Thanks for mentioning those posters, I'll be on the lookout for those boys. Anyone else come around?"

"We haven't seen anyone new around here except an old prospector named Joe who came in this afternoon. He's over at the saloon right now, I think. If you like, Micah, I'll buy you a beer and you can have a talk with him."

"A beer right now sounds pretty tempting," Micah said, taking out a kerchief and wiping dust off his face and neck. "But what I need right now is some dinner and few hours off my feet. And off this saddle," he added, shifting painfully to give himself some relief.

"I'm sure they can rustle you some grub at the saloon," Clete suggested.

Micah stepped down from his saddle. "Do you mind if I wash up at your office before we head over to the saloon?" he asked. "I'd like to get the taste of trail dust out of my mouth before I eat anything."

"Sure, come on over." Clete and Micah walked over to the sheriff's office, set directly across from the saloon. After getting cleaned up, the two lawmen walked across the street and into the saloon.

There wasn't a lot going on in the bar, Micah noticed, but that wasn't unusual for a town the size of Willow Springs. Not many drovers or cowhands stopped here; the town just wasn't big enough — gamblers didn't stay long here, thanks to Clete, and to the double-barrel 12-gauge shotgun he carried, a trick he'd learned from Micah incidentally, which encouraged idle troublemakers to continue on their way. Yes sir, Willow Springs was a civilized little town. In some ways even more civilized than North Fork, Micah thought, though that would change as the railroad came through and they kept growing, bringing more and more laws and civilization to the town.

The Saloon was perhaps a third full, with a couple of families eating midday meals, a table of farmers discussing their upcoming harvests, and a table near the wall where four men were playing poker, though it was for small stakes — Micah didn't see any folding money on the table.

Off in a corner, nearly out of sight, was an older man with gray hair and a long, gray beard sitting at a table with a plate of chicken bones and half-empty mug of beer in front of him. He seemed to be studying the room as carefully as Micah was; when their eyes met, for a moment, Micah saw how clear and blue they seemed to be — not like the eyes of an old man at all.

The two lawmen walked up to the bar. "Howdy, Clete," the bartender, a thin man with sandy hair and a ready smile, greeted him. "And Marshal Torrance," he added to Micah. "Good to see you again! Something to drink for you gentlemen?"

"A beer for me, Bill," Clete said.

"Coffee for me," Micah added. "If you've got any, that is."

"I always keep a pot going, in case someone needs sobering up," Bill grinned, taking a clay mug from under the bar and filling it with black, steaming coffee. "You want anything with that, Marshal? Sugar or some cream?"

"Black's good," Micah said, carefully tasting the hot liquid. A cold beer would be even more welcome after the hot, dusty ride he'd just endured, but he'd sworn off alcohol over four years ago, after stumbling into North Fork, drunk and despondent, only to have Lucas McCain and his son Mark help him get sober again. The marshal at the time, Fred Thomlinson, had been shot during an altercation in the North Fork Saloon, and Micah took over the job. Now there was nowhere in the world he'd rather be. "What's cooking tonight, Bill?"

"We got chicken and taters," Bill answered. "And biscuits and collard greens, if you want 'em."

"Sounds good," Micah nodded. Bill went in back to place the order, and Clete set his now-empty beer mug on the bar.

"I'm going back out to walk around a bit more," he said, "but I'll introduce you to our newest citizen before I go." The two men walked over to where the old prospector, Joe, was sitting.

"Joe," Clete said, "this here is Marshal Micah Torrance from North Fork. He's got a few questions for you."

"Howdy, marshal," Joe said. His voice was raspy and guttural. "'Scuse me if I don't get up — I haveta save my old legs for more important stuff, like walking."

"It's quite all right," Micah said, taking a seat across from the man. "I hope you don't mind if I join you."

"Don't 'pear like I got much choice in the matter," Joe muttered. "But suit yerself."

Clete clapped a hand on Micah's shoulder. "See you later, Micah," he said, and walked out of the bar.

Micah sipped at his coffee, watching Joe as Joe watched him. This close, Micah could see that beneath his shabby clothing the prospector was a tall, strong man; he hunched forward to hide his height, but to Micah, a man used to estimating the height of men on horses or buckboards, it was no problem. Joe wasn't as tall as Lucas, but he was well over six feet in height. The cook came out with his plate of chicken, potatoes, greens and biscuits, and the two men stared at the plate of food. Finally Micah spoke. "Been having much luck prospecting?"

"Some," Joe replied. "Enough to buy a meal every once in a while instead of trapping it myself. You thinkin' of goin' into prospectin', Marshal?"

"Not me," Micah chuckled. "I'm too old to get into that kind of life."

"I suppose so," Joe said shrewdly. "With that gimpy arm of your'n."

Micah nodded, not happy Joe had noticed he favored his right arm. Nine years ago, he'd been involved in a gunfight with a gunman named Dan Maury. The fight had left his right arm crippled; he couldn't draw and shoot fast with it anymore, though he could still hold a fork and feed himself if he was a bit careful about it. In nine years he'd gotten pretty good at using his right hand so it looked almost normal, but old Joe had seen through that right away.

"So what's eatin' at _you_, Marshal?" Joe asked, reaching for his beer mug. "What makes you want to share a table with an ornery old cuss like me?"

"Just wondering if you happened to see anyone wandering around while you were out prospecting," Micah told him, then forked some potatoes into his mouth. The food tasted mighty good after a long morning of eating dust. He washed down the potatoes with some coffee. The fried chicken smelled even more inviting.

"Wanderin' around?" Joe reached up and scratched behind an ear. "There ain't nothing out here but scrub and sand, Marshal. Who'd be tom-fool enough to go runnin' around in the dessert in this heat?"

"The person in question was found in a grove of trees about 10 miles from here," Micah said, jerking a thumb to the west. "The rancher who owns the land and his son were out there trapping game and they came across him and brought him into town."

"So what's the problem, Marshal?" Joe asked, gesturing with the beer mug in his hand. "If'n the person yer lookin' for came inta town?" Micah noticed the man hadn't taken a drink of his beer since he joined him.

"He left," Micah said. "I should have stopped him but I didn't — that's why I'm out looking for him now. I notice you still haven't answered the question: did you see anyone wandering around while you were out prospecting?"

Joe set the beer mug on the table and leaned forward. "No, Marshal, I surely ain't seen no one, no how, no where, or I'da said so. Does that answer your question?"

"It does," Micah nodded, not reacting to the old man's surly attitude.

"Good," Joe said, rising from his chair. "I'll be goin', then." He dropped two quarters, the price of the meal, on the table and started to walk away.

"Oh, one more thing," Micah said. The old man stopped and looked back at him. "You know who Ezra Crowley is?"

Joe scratched at his chin whiskers. "I heared there was a bank robber by that name. Ain't he and his boys in Texas somewheres?"

"They might be hiding out in New Mexico now," Micah said. "If you see any sign of them, you let me or Sheriff Masterson know."

"I steer clear of boys like that, Marshal," Joe said. "I ain't got no truck with bank robbers — no use givin' them a chance to get hold of my silver. But if'n I see any sign I'll let you know." He turned and walked out of the saloon.

Micah turned back to his meal. An interesting man, Joe was. He wondered if they'd be seeing him in North Fork. Micah picked up a warm chicken leg and bit into it, savoring the first meal he'd had since his early morning eggs and bacon. After the meal and an hour or so of rest, he'd be ready to hit the road again on his search for Harry Potter, this time heading back toward North Fork and home.

=ooo=

_That same afternoon, just outside North Fork — _

Harry brought his horse to a halt next to Lorrie, glad she'd finally slowed down enough for him to catch her. He'd been chasing her all over the countryside, trying to keep up as she teased him by galloping ahead until she was nearly out of sight, then stopping and waiting until he nearly caught up before racing away again. If this was some kind of game, Harry wanted to tell her, he was getting pretty tired of playing!

"Whew!" Lorrie said as he stopped next to her. "You're wearing me out, James!" He was wearing _her_ out? "You know, for someone who rode here all the way from Denver, you're not very good with horses, are you?"

"I guess not," Harry said tiredly. His entire body, _especially_ his bottom, ached with fatigue. "Do you mind if we get down for a few minutes and rest?"

"I suppose we can," she sniffed with smug superiority that for some reason reminded him of Hermione when she helped him and Ron with homework. "_If_ you're tired, that is."

Harry ignored her jibe and stepped down from his horse, walking a few feet away to collapse under the shade of a tree. Lorrie stepped down and walked over to join him, sitting down and crossing her legs in front of her. "What do you think of North Fork so far?" she asked.

The question took Harry unawares. "It's fine, I guess," he said.

"How long do you plan to stay?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno — a week or so, I guess."

"That's a long trip from Denver to make just to stay here a week or two, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Harry said, starting to feel like he was being interrogated. "But I wanted to see my cousin Lou."

"Well, that's nice," Lorrie smiled. "Did you say she was your first or second cousin?"

"Er — my second." _I think_, Harry silently added.

Evidently that was the right answer because Lorrie didn't remind him otherwise. "So where did you come from, if you weren't from Denver? Are you from Ireland like Lou?"

"No, I'm from…Godric's Hollow," Harry said, deciding to tell her where he was born rather than where he lived when he wasn't in Scotland at Hogwarts. "It's a town in the West Country of England."

"Oooh, that sounds exciting!" Lorrie said, leaning closer to Harry, her eyes filled with interest. "Is it like North Fork?"

"I don't remember much about it," Harry said honestly. "I was very young when I lived there, and my parents were both — they, er, died when I was only one year old."

"Oh, that's so sad!" Lorrie looked sympathetically at Harry, who swallowed uncomfortably. "What happened to you after that?"

"I went to live with my aunt and uncle," Harry said. He was beginning to warm to this conversation, especially one that seemed as interested as Lorrie. "They live in a town called Little Whinging." Lorrie giggled. "What?" Harry asked, wondering what was funny about _that_.

"That's just a funny name," Lorrie told him. "Is there a Big Whinging?"

"No," Harry said, frowning. He'd never really thought about the name before. "Lots of towns in Britain have names that begin with 'Little,'" he said.

"Like what?" she said, challenging him.

"Uh, well…Little Hangleton," Harry said. It was actually the only town he could think of. "Anyway, I'm sure there are more…"

"You just can't think of any, huh?" Lorrie snickered. "Are you ready to ride again, James?"

_Not really_, Harry thought, but he was going to have to if he wanted to get back to North Fork. "I suppose so," he said, climbing slowly to his feet. Just then a motion in the distance caught his eye. "What's that?" he said, pointing.

Lorrie followed his finger. "Oh, someone else is out riding!" she exclaimed. "I wonder who it is?"

As the rider got closer Harry realized with a sinking feeling who he was. It was Mark McCain. Harry didn't see Mark's father with him, which was just as well. If Mark or Mr. McCain recognized him, Harry had no idea what might happen.

Mark pulled his horse to a sudden stop a few yards from their horses. "Oh, hi," he said, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Hi, Mark!" Lorrie said gaily. "Are you out riding this afternoon, too?"

"Pa and me were going into town," Mark said. He was giving Lorrie an odd look. "Pa wanted to talk to Lou about leaving town without talking to her first." Mark's eyes flicked toward Harry, but he didn't look directly at him. "Who's your friend?" he asked Lorrie.

"Oh, this is James Mallory," Lorrie answered. "He's Lou's cousin who came down from Denver yesterday. Did you know that Lou had a cousin?"

"No," Mark said, slowly.

"Well, she does." Lorrie turned to Harry. "James, this Mark McCain, a friend of mine."

Mark was giving Harry an odd look as well, almost like he was trying to figure out something about him. Harry hoped Mark hadn't recognized him. He stepped forward and extended his hand toward Mark. "Pleased to meet you," he said politely.

After a moment Mark reached out and shook Harry's hand. "Pleased to meet you," he echoed. "Are — are you having a good time here in North Fork?"

"Yes, I am," Harry nodded. An uncomfortable silence followed.

"Well, good," Mark finally said. "Well, I guess I'll go on into town," he said. "I didn't mean to intrude —"

"We're about to go back too," Lorrie said quickly. "You can ride back with us."

"No, it's okay," Mark shook his head. "I gotta get — I gotta go." He turned his horse abruptly and galloped away.

"Mark!" Lorrie called after him. "MARK!" But Mark seemed not to hear. Lorrie put her hands on her hips in a gesture reminiscent of an irritated Lou Mallory. "I declare! That was rude of him!" She looked at Harry. "Wasn't that rude of him?"

Harry said nothing as Mark rode away, but he was worried that he might be rushing back to tell his father that he'd seen Harry Potter again, this time in disguise. He and Lorrie got back on their horses and Harry tried once again to keep up as Lorrie kept pushing him to make his horse go faster and faster. Harry just hoped that he wouldn't ride into North Fork only to find a crowd of unhappy townspeople ready to burn him at the stake.

=ooo=

_Back in the future: 3 August 1995, the Headmaster's office, Hogwarts Castle — _

Minerva McGonagall stood before the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, wondering just what could be the reason for him summoning her here so early in the morning. With less than a month before school started, she still had letters to prepare for the first-years who needed to be informed of their option to attend Hogwarts, including several visits to Muggleborns who had no other way to respond to the letters.

This year would prove to be particularly irksome, she felt, because the Ministry of Magic was in the midst of a "Down with Dumbledore" campaign, built around Minister Fudge's absolutely _idiotic_ notion that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had not returned, in spite of the fact that Harry Potter had been an actual eyewitness and unwilling participant in that horrific event, an event that had cost the life of one of their best and brightest students, Cedric Diggory.

The Ministry had refused to allow the booklists to be distributed to students, holding up their transmission to all of the students until Dumbledore notified them who this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be. Unfortunately, McGonagall knew, the Headmaster was having difficulty filling the Defense position this year, and small wonder! Last year's professor had spent the school year imprisoned in a trunk, impersonated with Polyjuice Potion by a Death Eater arranging to have Harry Potter kidnapped. The previous year's professor had left when it was discovered he was a werewolf, and the rumors had been thick that taking the position had somehow afflicted him with lycanthropy, though Remus Lupin had been a werewolf for many years.

The professor two years before, Gilderoy Lockhart, was now in St. Mungo's with permanent spell damage to his brain, the result of a backfired Obliviation Charm, while Quirinus Quirrell, the professor before him, was dead. It really wasn't that surprising that nobody wanted the Defense position at the school anymore!

McGonagall said the password and the gargoyle leaped aside as the wall slid away, and she stepped onto the moving spiral staircase, wondering as she ascended if this would be the year Dumbledore would give in and allow Professor Snape to take over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Snape had been trying to convince the Headmaster since he arrived at Hogwarts to give him the job, but Dumbledore had successfully kept him at bay all this time. That was something she was worried about, since whenever something went wrong at the school the Defense professor was almost always the primary suspect; and Snape, a former Death Eater, seemed even more likely, though Dumbledore gave him his full support and confidence, though he never explained why, not even to his Deputy Headmistress.

At the top of the stairs McGonagall steeled herself and moved toward the polished oaken doors, knocking lightly on them for admittance. "Come," a strong, deep voice spoke softly, and the doors opened of their own accord. She entered the office, finding Dumbledore at his desk staring intently at one of the strange silver devices he kept on several tall, thin tables scattered around his office.

The object of Dumbledore's interest was puffing and chirping away, tiny spinners whirling madly as Dumbledore's bright blue eyes glanced up toward her. "Ah. Welcome, Professor McGonagall. You are just in time for the result of my preliminary investigation. Please make yourself comfortable." He gestured toward a plush chair in front of his desk.

McGonagall moved closer to the desk but did not sit down. "What investigation?" she asked.

"One of our students is missing," Dumbledore said, as the device began to slow down, its puffing, chirping and beeping becoming slower and slower.

"Which one?" McGonagall said, then immediately guessed who the Headmaster must mean. "You mean Potter is missing?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded absently. "I've had some disturbing news, both from the Ministry and from Privet Drive itself." Both of their eyes went to the device as it finally stopped, disgorging a slip of parchment that Dumbledore removed and quickly read. "Alas! It is just as I feared." He handed the slip to McGonagall, who read it with growing concern.

HARRY JAMES POTTER IS NOT WITHIN THE RANGE OF THIS DEVICE.

She looked at Dumbledore. "What's the range of your device?"

"Approximately a six thousand mile radius," Dumbledore replied. McGonagall blanched. A circle of that size covered half the surface of the Earth! "What could have happened to him, Albus?"

"I am not sure, Minerva. I have also received two owls last night: the first one from Malfalda Hopkirk, advising me that Harry Potter had used magic in front of a Muggle, in violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, and that he was henceforth expelled from Hogwarts. She requested that I deliver the expulsion notice to him since her owl returned after being unable to deliver the letter directly."

"_What_?!" McGonagall was outraged. "They can't do that! Not without a hearing!"

"I agree," Dumbledore said, mildly. "I immediately traveled to the Ministry to clear up the misunderstanding. Cornelius seemed to be laboring under the misapprehension that I would automatically approve such an expulsion, this being Harry's second intentional use of magic outside of school."

"But why in the world would Potter cast a Patronus outside of Hogwarts?" McGonagall wondered, then paled. "Unless — Albus, do you think he saw a Dementor?"

"Which brings me to the second owl I received last night, this time at the Ministry," Dumbledore continued. "This one from Arabella Figg. As you know, due to Voldemort's return, we have had several members of the Order watching over Harry at Privet Drive."

McGonagall had winced slightly when the name "Voldemort" was spoken, but she was almost resigned to Dumbledore's casual use of it by now. "Yes," she nodded. She had taken the duty herself a few times in July, on weekends when she could be away from Hogwarts. "Who was guarding him last night?"

"Mundungus Fletcher," Dumbledore said. "Yes, Minerva," he went on as her expression changed to disgust, "I am quite aware of your feelings regarding Mundungus, but let us review the facts of the situation as presented by Mrs. Figg.

"As well as Mundungus, Mrs. Figg had positioned one of her cats — Mr. Tibbles as I recall," Dumbledore added bemusedly. "At approximately 7:15 p.m. Arabella wrote that she was approached by Mr. Tibbles, who let her know that Mundungus had abandoned his post watching over Harry a few minutes earlier."

"That old berk," McGonagall snapped. "Probably heard of something he could steal and couldn't wait to snatch it up!"

"In this case," Dumbledore advised her, "it was about some cauldrons that had been, shall we say, 'appropriated' by one of his associates and which Mundungus wished to acquire and sell for a profit."

Minerva snorted derision. "What happened after that?"

Dumbledore gave her a curious look. "With Harry or with the cauldrons?"

"With Harry, of course!" Minerva retorted exasperatedly.

"Of course." Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't interrupted himself. "Mrs. Figg immediately went to number four Privet Drive to find Harry, but discovered he had already left. She spent the next two hours wandering the neighborhood in search for him, incidentally stopping to buy cat food at a corner shop, when she finally located him just after nine p.m., walking toward his home with his cousin, Dudley.

"She then reported that everything seemed to become dark, as if clouds had suddenly filled the sky, though it had been a clear night until then. She also reported feeling cold, even though the evening was warm, and that she began to remember things, terrible things from her past, things she hadn't thought of in years." Dumbledore glanced significantly at McGonagall, who nodded anxiously.

"Dementors," she whispered. "She saw the Dementors! But —"

"Some Squibs can see Dementors," Dumbledore finished for her, "but Arabella cannot. However, I see no reason why she shouldn't be able to convincingly describe one at the hearing."

"_Hearing_?" Minerva was suddenly alarmed. "What hearing?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I was able to convince Cornelius not to immediately expel Harry from Hogwarts, but he insisted on a hearing before the Wizengamot."

Minerva was frowning with disgust. "I know the International Confederation of Wizards voted you out as Chairman because of your speech this summer that — that You-Know-Who was back, but you are Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot, with quite a few supporters still sitting on it! Does Fudge really think he can beat you there?"

Dumbledore smiled. "In fact, he does, my dear. Cornelius held an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot last night and they voted me out as Chief Warlock."

"That's impossible!" McGonagall gasped. "According to the rules of the Wizengamot that vote would have been illegal without the Chief Warlock himself present!"

"Nevertheless, a majority of the Wizengamot voted with Cornelius," Dumbledore told her. "However, given that he sent no notification of the meeting to any of my supporters on the High Court did tend to sway the vote in his favor." Dumbledore gave a small shrug. "Ah well, as long as they don't vote me off my Chocolate Frog card, it doesn't matter what they do."

"I don't know how you can say that, Albus," McGonagall said feelingly. "At this rate they'll vote you into Azkaban within the week, and then where will we be?"

"Well, back to Mrs. Figg's story," Dumbledore suggested. "There is an alleyway between the streets of Magnolia Cresent and Wisteria Walk, and she was at one end when she saw the two boys, Harry and his cousin Dudley Dursley, near the other end. She said they seemed to be trying to get away from something, but she could see no one else with them. Harry's cousin had fallen to the ground, and suddenly there was a brilliant flash of silver as Harry's Patronus appeared, flying back and forth between the boys, then suddenly disappearing. She started hurrying toward the boys when she heard several loud bangs, followed by another brilliant flash of light, blue-white as she described it, that dazzled her vision and she fell over on her back. When she was able to see again Harry was gone and his cousin was lying in the alleyway, unable to move after his confrontation with the Dementors."

"Merlin," Minerva whispered. "How is the boy now? Did he have to go to St. Mungo's? How could Arabella even get him there — she has no way —"

"Fortunately, Mundungus returned a minute or two later and assisted in transporting young Mr. Dursley to St. Mungo's for treatment," Dumbledore said. "After a short conversation between him and Mrs. Figg," he added, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'm sure Mundungus has learned the error of leaving his post without procuring backup."

"Mr. Dursley was diagnosed with a slight case of Dementia and was treated with chocolate and a Calming Draught, then returned to the alleyway after a small Obliviation Charm to remove any memories of the hospital. Mrs. Figg watched as he made his way to his home.

"However," Dumbledore concluded, "that still leaves us with the mystery of Harry's disappearance. I must confess, Minerva, I am baffled by what happened just before Harry disappeared; I do not recognize the auditory and visual effects of the magic she described before she became unconscious."

"I know of no spell with those effects, either," McGonagall added. "We need more information, but with Mrs. Figg as the only witness I don't know how we'll get it — she would have no way to tell us if there was anyone else there, Disillusioned or hidden under an invisibility cloak."

"I considered that as well," Dumbledore nodded gravely, "and an additional witness _was_ there, Minerva." His long-fingered hand slipped beneath the folds of his robes and drew out an hourglass-shaped object dangling from a golden chain. "Given the importance of finding and returning Harry Potter, Minerva, I had little choice regarding my actions."

"A Time-Turner?" Minerva frowned in disapproval, but the Headmaster was well-versed in the rules and regulations regarding time travel. He would have been quite careful in making sure he was not noticed by anyone in the past. "What did you discover?"

"I fear that my own observations will make little sense to either of us," Dumbledore replied. "But, as I am normally quite observant I must consider them as being accurate."

"Well, go on, then," Minerva urged impatiently. "What did you see?"

"I had positioned myself, Disillusioned and protected against detection charms or any other form of scyring, between Mrs. Figg and the two boys," Dumbledore recalled. "Mrs. Figg's description of the events that transpired in the alleyway were accurate until then.

"The loud bangs and the flash of blue-white light preceded the appearance of a black object in the air above Harry and Dudley. It appeared to be a Muggle motor vehicle of some type except it was airborne and had appeared upside down."

McGonagall's thoughts immediately went to the Ford Anglia that Arthur Weasley had enchanted into a flying vehicle several years ago. "Do you think Arthur had something to do with it?"

"I sent him an owl inquiring after any subsequent vehicles he might have enchanted," Dumbledore replied. "He assured in me in his reply that he has done absolutely nothing similar since then."

"Fred and George, then," Minerva speculated.

"They are unlikely to follow their father's mistake with a similar one," Dumbledore demurred. "The Weasley twins are rather more innovative than Arthur has shown himself to be."

"What else did you observe?"

"Harry was looking around for the source of the white flash. He had not yet looked above him when one of the doors of the vehicle above him opened and a hand extended downward." Dumbledore held up a cautionary finger. "This next bit of information is important, Minerva. The hand was holding a _wand_."

"Aha," Minerva said, feeling a sense of vindication. "So it _was_ a wizard!"

"It would seem so," Dumbledore agreed. "The wand twitched and a Stunning Charm hit Harry in the back. He collapsed onto the alleyway and then floated into the air, presumably from a Hover Charm."

"Did you try to stop him?" Minerva demanded.

"I did not," Dumbledore astonishingly replied.

"For Merlin's sake, Albus!" McGonagall exclaimed. "Why on earth not? You were right _there_!"

"I admit I was curious about the occupant or occupants of the vehicle," Dumbledore replied. "I believed it would be more expedient to determine who was kidnapping Harry and follow them to their base of operations in order to ascertain their intentions and deal with them directly. To that end, I cast an undetectable tracing spell on the vehicle as Harry was being carried inside. It is fortunate I did so, for as soon as the door shut on the vehicle it sped away into the sky, disappearing with a bright flash that left twin firetrails after it."

"And _were_ you able to follow them?" McGonagall asked, pointedly.

"Unfortunately not," Dumbledore admitted. Neither my tracing spell nor the Trace were able to locate either Harry or that vehicle."

"That is quite serious," McGonagall said, anxiety filling her voice. "The Trace should work on any underage wizard anywhere in the world."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed once again. "My tracing spell should have located the vehicle anywhere on earth as well. Since the Trace remains active on an underage wizard until it is removed, even if that child dies, and since only a Ministry Unspeakable (or, I modestly add, myself) possess the ability to remove the Trace, I must conclude that both Harry and the vehicle he was taken into have traveled to a place where my detection spells cannot possibly go. Into the past."

"But a Time Turner can only go so far into the past," Minerva objected. We limit the ones gifted students are allowed to use to six turns per 24-hour day, the number of hours we hold classes." She hated to say what she thought of next, but it had to be said. "If they took Harry six hours into the past and killed him, unless the Trace was removed beforehand, we would be able to detect where his body is now, a day later."

"_If_ they used a Time Turner," Dumbledore added. "But what wizardry has made available for us to use for many centuries now, Muggle science may have found a way to achieve as well, perhaps even surpassing our own accomplishments."

"Are you suggesting that the _Muggles_ may have created a way to travel in time?" McGonagall said, incredulous. "I find that quite difficult to believe, Albus!"

"I have some doubts as well, Minerva," the Headmaster told her, "but the evidence points to no other reasonable conclusion that fits what we know. If Harry is dead we are undone." Minerva nodded, her eyes filled with pain. "That is why we must pursue this as if he were still alive."

"What are you going to do?" the Transfiguration professor asked.

"I will ask Alastor to investigate the matter," Dumbledore replied. "He will be able to bring over one hundred years of Auror experience to bear with whatever wizarding or Muggle agencies required."

"I hope you are correct, Albus," Minerva sighed. Alastor Moody was considered the best Auror the Ministry had ever produced, but his methods of operation were somewhat unorthodox. Most people who got in his way did not fare well in the aftermath of those confrontations. "You know that he can be rather…harsh if believes he is being stonewalled."

"I will remind him to be gentle in his dealings with others," Dumbledore said, a small smile on his lips. "He does sometimes seek the truth rather more forcefully than some of us."

"Good," McGonagall said. "Now, if you will excuse me, Headmaster, I have several letters to write to this year's firsties."

"As you say," Dumbledore inclined his head. "And I must find a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor before August thirty-first if I am to avoid the Wizengamot making the decision for me."

"Good luck with that," Minerva said earnestly. "Seriously, good luck. I shudder to think what that group of inbred idiots will try to foist on us!"

=ooo=

Back in North Fork, the mob of witch-burners that Harry had dreaded seeing were nowhere in evidence; in fact, his absence in the town that afternoon had hardly been noticed, as far as he could tell. A few people waved at him and Lorrie as they rode up the main street toward the livery stable, but there were no stares, no pointing fingers, none of the things Harry had come to expect whenever he was surrounded by people. It was strangely comforting, in a way.

"I should be getting home," Lorrie said as Harry dropped off his horse at the livery. "Ma and Pa will expecting me home to help with dinner, then I've going to help in the hotel kitchen tonight," she added. "Lou thinks I'll make a fantastic cook and she's going to have me help prepare the main dishes. Are you eating in the hotel tonight, James?"

"I guess so," Harry said. "I'll see you then," and he waved as Lorrie rode away. As far as he knew that was what Lou had planned for him. He just wished he knew why she kept pairing him up with Lorrie. The girl was nice, Harry thought, and very outgoing. In fact, he wished she'd be _more_ quiet sometimes! The way she talked to him sometimes, it felt like she was … his …

Hmmm. Harry tasted an idea and didn't like it at all; it would be a bitter potion to swallow, if true. Could Lou be trying to _set them up_? Harry didn't want to believe that — once the answer came back from the Salem Institute he would hopefully be able to go back home, to the future.

If that was possible.

And if it _wasn't_ possible? That was not a pleasant thought, though Harry had to admit that _here_ there was no Voldemort, no Death Eaters trying to kill him. Here there was no Dumbledore ignoring him and leaving him in his virtual prison of number four, Privet Drive. It was also true that he would see none of his friends, Hermione and Ron and the others at Hogwarts, for a long, long time. But it was still possible, he knew; wizards lived a very long time, over a hundred years, so he would experience most of the upcoming century firsthand. He would see the birth of wizards like Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall, even those like Grindlewald and Voldemort himself. That was an intriguing thought! If men like those had never been born, what would the world be like?

Hmmm. Harry tasted yet another idea, this one rather more important than being roped into being some girl's boyfriend. What if he could somehow _change what happened_ in this past so that Voldemort never reached adulthood? What was the worst thing that could happen?

Hermione's warning about changing the past welled up in his mind. It was possible, if you could somehow go back before you were born, to change the past enough to preclude your own birth. If that happened you created a — what did she call it? A _temporal paradox_. Harry wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but it sounded pretty bad, which was why he remembered it in the first place. A temporal paradox would destroy the original future, replacing it with a new one that resulted from the changes made. And the person that made the changes? He might or might not still exist afterwards; too little was known about such paradoxes.

But if things ended up better for everyone after such a change, Harry wondered, wouldn't _that_ be worth the chance of obliterating oneself? Voldemort's war consumed more than a decade and the lives of hundreds of innocents, perhaps thousands. What was his one life against those thousands?

After the general store was closed Lou and Harry headed over to the Madera House hotel so Lou could oversee dinner and Harry could eat before he tackled the dishes in the kitchen. She seated him at the same table as before, but this time an older lady took his food order, not Lorrie. Harry asked for chicken this time instead of steak, hoping it was easier to cut. At worst he could just pick up the chicken and eat it without worrying about cutting it into pieces.

Saturday night seemed to be night for everyone in town to come out and eat. Most of the tables filled within a few minutes after Harry's arrival, and he got to see a cross-section of the people of North Fork. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen dined in pairs at tables in their finest frocks and overcoats. Other tables had men dressed in rougher-looking but clean clothes; Harry noticed the plates those men ate from were mostly filled with steak and potatoes. Several tables had children; most of them looked to be less than ten or eleven years old. Harry didn't see many boys and girls his age, but he knew there were at least three other boys besides Mark and Lorrie. And Lou _still_ thought he should attend school here while it was in session and he was still living in North Fork.

_That_ was going to be boring, Harry thought morosely. Sitting around all day in a hot room reading from century–old books and doing sums a ten-year old could do was not Harry's idea of interesting. If he had his "druthers," like the people around here would say, he'd _druther_ be in Lou's magical library reading the books she'd collected over the years, or looking over the items and devices in her study. The idea that he would be so studious, given the chance, struck him as funny, and he snorted laughter to himself, sending a thin trickle of the milk he'd just drank out of his nose.

Covertly wiping his nose, Harry glanced around the room, checking to see if anyone was looking at him, and saw that Lucas McCain and Mark had just entered the dining room. _Great_, Harry thought, uncomfortable with them being here as well. _I wonder if Mark's going to want to come over and talk_?

But Mr. McCain pointed to an empty table across the room and he and Mark headed toward it. Mark might have glanced Harry's way but he couldn't tell for sure. At the table, Mark kept looking toward his father, away from the direction where Harry was sitting. That was just fine with Harry — he hoped he could finish his meal in peace and sneak into the kitchen to get to work without being noticed, though Mark and his father were near the kitchen door. He might have to sneak around and come in through the back door to avoid been stopped. Harry went back to eating his meal.

Lucas and Mark had given the waitress their orders and were waiting for their food when Lucas noticed an unfamiliar face across the dining room. "Mark," he said, nodding in Harry's direction. "Is that boy over there Lou's cousin?"

Mark turned, though he had already seen James and was carefully avoiding looking at him. "Yes, Pa," he said. "That's James."

"Lou was telling me about him earlier," Lucas said. "She said he rode down from Denver yesterday. Why don't you go over and invite him to sit with us?"

"Um," Mark hesitated. After seeing James with Lorrie earlier today Mark didn't really feel like sharing a meal with him! But he also couldn't tell his pa that! "It looks like he's right in the middle of eating, Pa. I don't want to disturb him."

"You're right," Lucas nodded. He stood. "Why don't we go over and join him."

"Huh?" Mark looked up at his father in alarm. "I — uh —"

"Don't worry," Lucas chuckled, for once misreading Mark's concern. "Sally will be able to figure out where we've moved to. Come on."

Mark followed his father across the room to where Harry was sitting. "Excuse me," Lucas said to him. "You're James Mallory, Lou's cousin, aren't you?"

Harry, who'd been watching the two McCains coming across the room toward him, wishing he'd eaten faster and bolted from the room the first chance he got, nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, as if he didn't know the tall man. He stood and offered his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, sir," he said formally, then offered his hand to Mark. "Mark and I met earlier today. It's good to see you again, Mark." Mark took his hand and they shook once again.

Another uncomfortable silence followed.

"Do you mind if we join you for dinner?" Lucas finally asked, seeing that neither boy intended to say anything. He could sense there was some kind of tension between the two boys, but had no idea what it might be. After all, they had only met briefly earlier that day, according to Mark, when he met James and Lorrie just outside North Fork —

Ah. That explained it! Lucas suppressed a smile. Mark was jealous that James and Lorrie had been riding together. Well, that was something every boy growing up had to deal with, and Mark might as well start learning now. His son was now staring at the table, not looking at him or James, and Lou's cousin had put his fork down, Lucas guessed, to wait for their food to arrive so they could all eat together. But neither boy was speaking up, so it was up to him —

"So, James," Lucas said conversationally, "I hear you just rode into town yesterday, from Denver. How did you like it?"

"Well —" Harry wasn't sure what Mr. McCain was asking him. "The ride was okay, it took a while, though, to get here."

"No," Lucas smiled patiently. "I mean, how did you like Denver?"

"Oh," Harry said. He had no idea what Denver was like, nor even where it was, really. It was somewhere north of them, that's all he knew, plus what Lorrie had said about it yesterday. "It's a little bigger than I'm used to, sir. I'm used to smaller towns like North Fork."

"Your cousin Lou came from there, right?" Lucas went on. "Do you have any other relatives in Denver?"

"Um —" Lou had never said anything about relatives! "Not…really…" he hedged, figuring Lou would have stayed in Denver if she had relatives there. "Most of our relatives are back in Britain and Ireland."

"Is that where your parents are?" Lucas asked.

"My parents are —" Harry hesitated; it wouldn't do if his parents were dead, too — that might remind Mr. McCain too much of Harry Potter. "They are living near London," he said, turning his aunt and uncle into his parents. "My mum had a sister, but she died."

"Sorry to hear that," Lucas said automatically. "So how long do you plan to stay, James?" The waitress brought his and Mark's plates and they all began eating.

"I don't know," Harry said. _Not long, I hope_, he thought, wanting to finish eating as fast as he could and get out of there.

"Hi, Mark!" a familiar voice suddenly said, and the three of them looked around to see Lorrie standing nearby. "Oh, hi James!" she added, when she saw him. "I didn't see you behind Mr. McCain!"

"Hi Lorrie!" Mark piped up immediately. "You cooking in the kitchen tonight?"

"Yes," Lorrie said. "Didn't I tell you that yesterday?" she said huffily, as if Mark should have remembered.

"Oh, yeah — you did," Mark muttered, embarrassed to be reminded.

Lorrie instantly changed moods again. "Well, I'll see you in church tomorrow!" she said brightly. "And James, I'll see you in a little while!" She turned hurried back into the kitchen.

Mark was looking at Harry. "Are you working in the kitchen too, James?" he asked, in a flat tone.

"Yes," Harry said, keeping his tone as flat as Mark's. He didn't want to seem like he was enjoying himself, even though he liked helping. "I'm washing dishes for Lou."

"Good of you to help out," Lucas commended him. His steak and potatoes were nearly gone. "Listen," he said, standing. "I think I'm going to talk to Lou for a bit." He dropped a stack of coins on top of their meal ticket. "Mark, will you pay for our meals? I'll meet you at the buckboard in a few minutes."

Mark made to get up as well. "I'll go with you, Pa, I'm almost done anyway."

"No, you stay here and keep James company," Lucas decided. "Besides, I thought you wanted a piece of Lou's apple pie?"

"Oh, yeah." Mark sat back down, looking uncomfortable.

_I hope this works out_, Lucas thought as he left the dining room. He'd left Mark and James together on purpose, to see if they could settle their differences.

Harry and James finished their meals in silence, neither one wanting to be the first to "give in" and say something. Saying something would be the same as admitting you weren't mad, and each of them had their own reasons to be upset with the other boy.

Mark pushed his empty plate away, then stared at the stack of coins on the table. Pa had left him enough extra money for two slices of apple pie — should he offer to buy a slice to James, or not?

Finally, Mark spoke. "You ever had a slice of Lou's apple pie?" he asked James.

Harry nodded. "Yes, she lets me have a slice of it after I eat."

"It sure is good," Mark allowed.

"You're right," Harry agreed.

"You gonna have some tonight?"

"I reckon so," Harry said, smiling slightly. Even if Mark had acted strange today with him and Lorrie, there wasn't much that could be wrong with a kid who liked apple pie.

"Me too," Mark grinned, and waved at the waitress to get her attention. "Two slices of apple pie," he said when she came over. "One for me and one for James." The waitress nodded and returned a minute later with two warm slices of apple pie, each with a big curl of cheese on top. Both boys dug into the tasty pastry.

But soon Mark's inquisitive nature got the better of him. "So," he asked, as casually as he could, "how was your ride with Lorrie this afternoon?"

Harry froze for a moment. _Wasn't it obvious he wasn't interested in Lorrie_? "Er — it was okay, no big deal," he said carefully. "After riding down from Denver," he added, "I'm kind of tired of riding."

"Yeah, it's quite a ride," Mark agreed. "So… did you ask her to go on that ride with you?"

"No, she asked me," Harry said, talking around the pie and cheese in his mouth. _Give it up already, Mark_!

That gave Mark pause. Lorrie had asked _him_? Why would she do that, unless she liked him? "She asked you, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Did you enjoy the ride?" Mark pressed, wanting more details about this ride Lorrie had instigated with the new kid in town. "I mean, did she show you around or anything?"

"Kind of," Harry answered, not wanting to say anything but having no good reason not to. "Mostly I was just trying to keep up with her — she rides faster than I'm used to."

"She's pretty good on a horse," Mark said, feeling like he had to defend her. "You could probably learn some things from her."

Harry gave him an annoyed look. _I know I can't ride but there's no reason to rub it in_! "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"Well, just what I said," Mark retorted, his voice beginning to rise. "Lorrie's a better rider than you. I could see that plain as anything when you two were riding back into town earlier."

"I didn't see you out on the street," Harry said, irritated. "What were you doing, watching us while you were hiding somewhere?"

"I was in the marshal's office," Mark snapped. "Pa was talking to Bill Waller — he's filling in while Micah's out of town. I saw you and Lorrie through the window."

"Well, good for you," Harry sneered, not knowing what else to say. His pie was gone, and he wanted to be gone, too. "I guess I'll go get to work, then," He pushed back his chair and started to rise.

His flannel shirt caught on the chair and he staggered as he stood, pulling his shirt tail out of his jeans. Embarrassed, Harry quickly shoved the tails back into his jeans as Mark snickered. But Mark suddenly stopped snickering as he caught a glimpse of a shaft of wood hidden under James's shirt. A very familiar looking piece of wood.

That was the wand that Harry Potter had been carrying!

Harry hadn't noticed that Mark had seen the wand. He glared at Mark, unhappy that he'd made a big deal out of his innocent horse ride with Lorrie. "See you around, Mark," he muttered, and stalked into the kitchen, leaving Mark to stare after him.

There was only one or two reasons why James would have Harry Potter's wand, Mark thought. Either James Mallory had seen Harry on the road to Denver and took the wand from him, or —

Or James Mallory _was_ Harry Potter! Mark suspected the latter; the two of them looked a lot alike, from what Mark remembered of Harry. James's hair was blond, not black, he was a bit taller than Harry was, and his glasses were different, but they looked about the same otherwise.

He should tell his pa, Mark decided, and started to stand up, to run and tell him Harry Potter was back in town. But he stopped and sat back down. Maybe this could work out, he thought. He hadn't wanted Harry to leave, and now he was back. There was no use in looking a gift horse in the mouth, he reminded himself. And now maybe he could get Harry to tell him just what he meant when he said that Mark was a wizard.

Mark got up from the table. He wanted to talk to Harry now, but he couldn't just go in the kitchen and start asking him questions — Lorrie or one of the other women in there would overhear and that would ruin everything. He and Pa would be back in town tomorrow, for church, and he could find Harry then.

Mark went to the front desk and paid for his and his pa's meals, then went outside to where their buckboard was parked. Pa wasn't there, so he jumped up in the buckboard to wait for him. It would be dark in an hour or so, he reckoned, he hoped his pa wouldn't want him to do many more chores before they went to bed.

"Hey, Sonny," a raspy voice behind him startled Mark, and he spun around to see a grizzled old man standing next to the buckboard grinning at him. "You keepin' that buggy from running away, are yeh?"

"Uh, what?" Mark asked, not sure what the old man had said to him.

"Nothin', nothin'," the old man said, waving a hand dismissively. "Just greenin' yeh a bit there, boy. You live here abouts?"

"Yeah," Mark said. He'd never seen this old man before. "Did you just get into town, mister?"

"Sure did," the old man nodded. "My name's Old Joe. I do a mite of prospectin' in these parts."

"Really?" Mark asked, interested. "My pa said there isn't any gold in these parts, and the silver's been mined out long ago."

The old man cackled laughter. "Well, mebbe so, mebbe so," he said, shrewdly, "if'n yeh don't know where'n to look. But lookee here." He pulled a pouch out of his pocket almost as big as Mark's fist. "Feel that, boy."

Mark hefted the pouch. "That's pretty heavy," he said, handing it back.

Old Joe nodded. "It better be! That's full of pure silver, boy!"

"Wow!" Mark said. "That must be worth a lot of money!"

"You betcha!" Old Joe nodded. "Now, boy, can yeh tell me where the assay office is hereabouts?"

"Um," Mark was not sure what that was. "I don't think we have one of those around here. But you can go over to the Bank of North Fork, I'm sure Mr. Hamilton, the man who runs the bank, could figure out what your silver is worth. But they're not open now," he added. "They're closed 'til Monday."

"Tarnation!" Old Joe scratched his chin thoughtfully. "'Pears like I'll be around 'til Monday, then." He leaned closer to Mark. "Say, boy, do me a favor and keep mum about this here pouch o' mine, okay? No use advertising I'm carrying around this much silver, eh?"

"I won't say anything," Mark agreed. Just then both he and the old man looked up as four riders came into town from the north. All four men looked dusty and grimy from a long day's ride, and they rode right up to the North Fork Saloon and dismounted. The four of them stood talking for a minute, with two of the men looking around; especially, Mark thought toward the Bank of North Fork.

"You know them fellers, boy?" Old Joe asked Mark.

"No, sir," Mark shook his head. "Never set eyes on them before. I wonder who they are?" he added, almost to himself. He turned to ask Joe the same question. "Who do you think they are —"

But Old Joe was no longer around. Mark was still wondering where he went when Lucas came walking toward the buckboard. "Ready to go home, Mark?"

Mark nodded. As his father climbed up into the buckboard, Mark asked him, "Pa, when you were coming did you see an old man talking to me?"

"No, son," Lucas replied. "Do you know who he was?"

"He said his name was Old Joe and that he was a prospector."

"Not much prospecting going on around here," Lucas mused, climbing into the buckboard. "I wonder what he's really doing around here."

"Pa," Mark lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "He showed me a bag full of silver, there must be _some_ around here."

Lucas looked skeptically at his son. "Did you actually _see_ the silver, Mark? Did he open the bag and show you?"

"Well, no," Mark admitted. "But he let me hold it — it was pretty heavy."

"So is lead," Lucas suggested.

"Oh." The idea finally sank into Mark's head. "You think he was fooling me?"

"I don't know," Lucas said. "But I wouldn't put much stock in the idea that bag was filled with silver until I'd seen it with my own eyes."

Mark looked disappointed. "I guess you're right, Pa," he muttered. "That bag just felt like a lot of silver."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Mark," Lucas said. "If it is silver then Old Joe can take it to the bank on Monday and exchange it for money or John can hold it for him until he's ready to leave town."

"That's just what I told him, Pa," Mark nodded. "That he could go to the bank on Monday."

"Good," Lucas nodded. "Now we'd better get home — it'll turn dark before much longer, and I've got a few chores for you to do before then."

Darn. "Yes, Pa," Mark said, and at Lucas's urging the buckboard pulled into the street, heading for the McCain ranch. As they drove away Mark looked toward Madera House, hoping he'd see Harry Potter tomorrow and find out just what he was going to tell them about Mark being a wizard before his pa forced Harry to leave town.


	3. Four Rode In

**Chapter Three  
****Four Rode In****  
**

_Updated_ 8/9/2013

**=ooo=**

For being the day of rest, Sunday was usually quite a bustling time around the McCain ranch. Like any other day, the cows and horses needed feeding, the cows that had calved needed milking, any eggs laid needed collecting for breakfast before the chickens were fed, and all this before Mark and his father ate breakfast so they could get ready for church that morning.

Sunday-go-to-meeting usually meant washing off in the stall Pa had built that would pour water down on you from a hose fastened above your head, fed from a barrel on the side of the house that held rainwater from the roof. If you weren't awake before then, that cold water would sure do the trick!

After that, scrubbed clean and dried with terrycloth towels bought from Lou's general store, Mark and his father would dress in their best clothes, hitch up the buckboard, and ride into town to sing songs and hear the preacher give his sermon. They usually sat next to Lou these days; another indication to Mark that his pa and Lou were kind of sweet on one another, even if neither of them would admit it out loud. Standing with someone in church was a pretty serious business, Mark had figured out. He'd even been thinking of asking his pa if he could go sit with Lorrie and her parents during services. But that was a _big_ step, he knew, and he wasn't exactly sure how he should approach it with Lorrie. Or his pa, for that matter. Mark pondered those questions all the way into North Fork.

Lucas had noticed Mark was being very quiet and thoughtful that morning. Usually he had something to talk about, whether it was the vegetable garden he tended in the summer, their horses, or even a theological question every so often. "You haven't said much this morning," Lucas remarked when they were a mile or so from town.

Mark sat upright in surprise. "I haven't?" he said, startled by his pa's abrupt comment. "I guess I was just thinking."

"What about?"

"Well…" How was he going to put this so he could convince his pa? Had he even convinced _himself_ yet? "I was thinking I might sit with Lorrie and her parents in church today, if that's alright with you."

Lucas smiled to himself but put on a neutral expression. "Is it alright with Lorrie's parents?"

"I haven't asked them yet," Mark replied, "I was thinking I'd do that before church began. I know they like me."

"I'm sure they do," Lucas agreed. "You're a fine boy, Mark. They recognize that. I'm sure they would be proud to have you sit with them and their daughter."

Mark smiled, a little embarrassed by the praise his pa had heaped on him. "So it's okay with you?" he asked, to be sure.

"It's okay with me," Lucas nodded. He patted Mark on the leg. "Be sure and sing loud enough I can hear you."

Mark grinned. "I will, Pa!" he beamed. "I sure will!"

**=ooo=**

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror, tugging at the uncomfortable collar of the shirt he was wearing. "This is almost as bad as the Yule Ball," he muttered.

"At least you _had_ a Yule Ball," Lou's voice said from the next room. "Our Headmistress was never much interested in parties or celebrations."

"Who was your Headmistress?" Harry asked, trying to fix the tie the way Lou had shown him.

"Eupraxia Mole," Lou said. "She was a very good Headmistress, just not a lot of fun. A very no-nonsense witch. Let me see what you look like, Harry," she called, and Harry walked into the sitting room.

"Very nice!" Lou smiled happily at him. "But that tie needs a bit of straightening, I think." She began to fiddle with bow he had clumsily tied.

Harry stood there and endured it. "Why do you even go to church at all?" he asked again, hoping she'd give him a real answer this time. The last time he'd asked she'd said, "Because it's there."

"Harry," Lou sighed, retightening his tie, "North Fork is not so big people wouldn't notice if you don't show up at church every week. It's a sad fact that we must keep up appearances in the Muggle world if people are to think of us as normal. When you're in Hogwarts you're among your own. How do you aunt and uncle keep people from thinking you're any different than they are?"

"If they had their way," Harry said bitterly, "they'd keep me locked in the cupboard when I'm not doing chores for them. As it is they tell the neighbors that I go to a school for incurably criminal boys."

"Seriously?" Lou looked at him, appalled. "Your own flesh and blood would treat you that way?"

"They've never liked magic," Harry said. "They told me when I was little that my parents were killed in a car crash, not that they'd been killed by the Dark Lord Voldemort. They tried to keep me from attending Hogwarts — they would have succeeded, too, if Hagrid hadn't shown up on my 11th birthday with my Hogwarts letter."

"And who's Hagrid?" Lou wanted to know.

"Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

"Ah," Lou nodded. "We had one of those, too — a fine fellow named Rowen Pemberton. A strapping fellow, let me tell you!" Lou smiled, remembering. "We always thought there was something going on between him and the Headmistress." She made a last adjustment on his tie. "There! Pretty as a picture you are! You'll make a fine figure yourself at church today."

Harry sighed in resignation. Well at least if he was with Lou he would be away from Lorrie for a while. And Mark, too; their argument last night had left Harry wishing he could hide in the rooms above the general store until they heard back from Salem, but Lou kept insisting that he go to school next week, to _keep up appearances_.

They walked downstairs and through the general store, then down the street to the south end of town where the church was located. It was close to eleven a.m., the time services started, and people were gathered in front of the church chatting beforehand. Lou walked up to where Mr. McCain and Mark were standing, to Harry's dismay. "Good morning, Lucas," she said cheerfully. "A very nice day, isn't it?"

"It sure is, Lou," Lucas agreed. "A fine day for a picnic, don't you think?"

Lou gave him a coy smile. "Why Lucas McCain, are you asking me to go on a picnic with you?"

"If you're interested," Lucas replied, smiling.

Both Mark and Harry were staring at this spectacle with mounting horror. While neither of them were opposed to sitting in soft grass under a shady tree eating food, the thought of doing so while these two adults made goo-goo eyes at one another was… awful.

"Good morning!" Harry closed his eyes upon recognizing Lorrie's voice. _Just let me die_, he thought.

"Good morning, Lorrie!" Lou said as the young blonde came up to them. "Don't you look lovely this fine Sunday morning!" Lou nudged Harry's arm. "James, doesn't she look lovely this morning?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked at Lorrie. She was wearing a white dress and bonnet that seemed to sparkle in the morning sun. "You look very nice, Lorrie," he said, though he tried not to allow any hint of interest creep into his voice.

"Thank you, James!" Lorrie beamed at him. Harry glanced at Mark: he was looking back and forth between his father and Lou, as if expecting one of them to ask what _he_ thought of Lorrie's dress. But the two adults were just smiling at one another, like Mark didn't exist. _Say something_! Harry thought at him furiously.

"You sure do look nice, Lorrie!" Mark finally blurted.

"Why, thank you, Mark," Lorrie smiled indulgently at him, like it was an afterthought. "It's very kind of you to say so."

_Let's get this over with_, Harry pleaded internally. At this point he would rather wash dishes all afternoon than spend an hour in a church. But the hotel's dining room was only open a few hours on Sundays, from around one until seven p.m. in observance of what Lou had called the "Sabbath," whatever that was.

While Lou and Mr. McCain worked out the details of the picnic, Mark had moved closer to Lorrie and was speaking very quietly with her. "Oh, you don't have to do that, Mark!" she suddenly said, rather loudly. "I've already asked Ma and Pa if I could sit with Lou!"

"You mean with —" with an effort Mark cut himself off. "Okay, fine," he went on, suddenly calm. "That's nice, Lorrie. You know, maybe you'd like to go on a picnic this afternoon?"

"Really?" Lorrie looked interested. "I do have the day off — I'm sure Ma and Pa would let me go. Where are we going?"

Mark pointed back at his father and Lou. "Well, they're the ones going on the picnic," he said. He leaned forward confidentially. "I just think they need a chaperone, you know."

"Mark!" his father said in a warning tone. "I heard that!"

Mark whirled around, a shocked expression on his face. "Pa, you said Lorrie and me should've had someone with us that day we were out looking for arrowheads and got caught in that quicksand! Don't you remember?"

"That was different," Lucas snapped. Lou said nothing; she simply watched bemusedly as Lucas and his son argued with each other.

"How?" Mark asked.

"You were too young to be out alone then," Lucas said.

"That was only two months ago," Mark reminded him.

"It's been almost three months!" Lucas shot back.

"Mr. McCain, I don't need to go if you don't want me," Lorrie said, her eyes wide.

"Of course we want you," both Lucas and Lou said at the same time. They looked at each other, then back at the girl. "It'll be fun," Lou continued.

"It sure will," Lucas said firmly, as if that settled it. "And _you_," he pointed at Mark. "Can go home and clean the house if you don't want to go!" Mark didn't say anything.

Lou looked at Harry. "Are you coming with us, James?" she asked. The expression on her face told Harry she expected him to say "Yes."

But Harry wasn't having any more of whatever campaign Lou was waging to get him and Lorrie together, because that's exactly the conclusion he'd come to about the activities of the past few days. "I'll pass," he said. Lorrie looked upset when he said that, but he didn't care. He really didn't, he told himself firmly.

"Have it your way," Lou said, sounding indifferent. But the way she glared at him before turning away told Harry he'd hit a nerve. "We'd better get to our seats," she said to Lucas. "Come along, Lorrie."

"I'm — I'm going to go ask my parents if I can go on that picnic with you," Lorrie said, looking upset. "I'll see you later, Miss Lou. Mr. McCain." Without a glance at Mark or Harry she turned and hurried over to join her parents walking into the church.

"Let's go," Lucas said, his voice tight with repressed anger. Harry followed Lou inside. Lucas pointed at a seat with room for four people, and Mark went in first, followed by Lucas, followed by Lou, with Harry going in last.

Church proved to be as boring as Harry had expected; the crowd sang songs he had never heard before and the preacher talking about sins, repentance and forgiveness. Forgiveness was admirable, but he wasn't sure what sin and repentance had to do with living one's life. At least his aunt and uncle had never subjected him to anything like this!

At one point Lou had leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I wish you'd reconsider going to the picnic with us," she said. "Once you get to know Lucas a little better, you'll see what a fine man he is."

"I'm sure he is a fine man," Harry whispered back. "To _you_. But I don't know how you can be who you are and see anything in him, considering what he did to me." Lou gave him a reproachful look and turned back to listen to the preacher going on about forgiveness. Harry sighed, not listening any more, then waited with his teeth set on edge for the service to be over.

**=ooo=**

Only a few people in North Fork that morning were not at the church service. Bill Sweeny, the proprietor and bartender of the North Fork Saloon, was getting ready for the after-church business while serving the few customers who hadn't gone to Sunday meeting. Micah Torrance, back from his search for the Harry Potter boy the night before, was in the marshal's office reading the wanted posters on Ezra Crowley and his gang. The descriptions on the posters were rather poor, having no pictures of the Crowley gang and only vague descriptions that could fit any number of men. He'd just talked to a group of men at the saloon who _might_ have fit the description, but only because there was four of them, the same number as in Crowley's gang; they insisted they were on their way to join a cattle drive in Texas, and the names they gave didn't match the names on the posters. Tomorrow morning he'd wire the town in Texas where they said they were heading and check on that cattle drive. He'd thought of doing that today but it wasn't worth having Amos open up the telegraph office just to send one short message.

Over in the Madera House kitchen a couple of elderly ladies who'd already made their peace with God for the day prepared the food for the dinner and early supper that the hotel served on the day of rest.

Old Joe the prospector was sitting on a bench in front of the general store, whittling on a branch and whistling tunelessly. He would glance up every so often, surveying the street for activity, then go back to his wood carving. So far the only people he'd seen were people walking down to the church, two old women who'd gone into the hotel, four men on horses who'd rode up to the saloon and were now inside, and the marshall, who'd gone into the saloon and come out after a few minutes. Old Joe kept whittling.

In the saloon, the four men who might have looked like the Crowley gang were seated around a table taking turns pouring themselves shots of whiskey. One of the men reached for the nearly empty bottle, but the leader of the group clamped his hand down on it and the first man let go. The leader poured the last bit of whiskey into his shot glass, then tossed the empty bottle to Sweeny, who caught it before it broke on the bar.

"Another one," the leader said, and Sweeny brought another full bottle and set it on the table in front of him. "How many is that?" the leader asked, as Sweeny started to turn away.

"The fourth," Sweeny answered.

"Right," the leader agreed. "Put it on my tab."

Sweeny nodded and moved away. The four men had walked into the saloon practically the minute he unlocked the doors this morning. There usually weren't many customers on Sunday mornings and at first Sweeny had been happy for the extra business, but now these four were giving him chills. He'd be happy even if they walked out without paying, as long as they didn't bust up his bar before they left.

"Look again," the leader growled once the bartender had walked away, his voice barely audible. "See if he's still out there." One of the other men got up and walked casually to the door, pretending to stretch. He was short with black, curly hair. In fact, his nickname _was_ Curly. After a moment he turned and sat back down at the table, tossing back a shot after one of the other men filled his glass.

"That old coot's still out there," Curly told the leader, just loud enough that only the men at the table could hear.

"This is crazy," one of the other men, a lean-faced fellow named Larry, muttered impatiently. "Why don't one of us just go over and run him off or something so we can have a look in that bank! He's just some old stumblebum prospector anyway!"

"No," said the leader. "Nothing out of the ordinary happens while we're here. We're just riding through on our way to a cattle drive, like we told the marshal earlier. If someone ends up with their head stove in, people might remember us. That bartender, for example. He's had plenty of time to study our faces. When we leave town I want him to forget he ever saw us."

"He's gonna remember _something_ when that bank gets hit next week," the last man, Morris, pointed out. "'Remember those four men rode into town a week ago,' he'll tell the marshal, 'and they sat in the saloon and drank lots of whiskey.' It's the kind of thing a bartender remembers."

"He'll serve plenty of whiskey between now and then," the leader said. "You worry too much, Moe."

"I worry about spending five to ten in Yuma again," Moe snarled in reply, though his voice was barely audible even to the leader. "And so should you!"

"Don't you worry 'bout me," the leader said confidently. "You boys do like I say, this time next week we'll be rolling in Army loot."

"We still gotta get a look inside that bank," Larry insisted. "How we gonna do that with that old codger watchin' the entire street?"

"It'll just take a bit of improvisation," the leader said. "If he's still there when we leave, when we pass in front of the bank I'll pretend to drop something from my horse. When I get down to get it back, I'll have a quick look inside the bank. Your horses will block his view of what I'm doing. Then I'll figure out how we'll hit that armored stagecoach when it stops here for the night."

"What if we get caught?" Curly wondered apprehensively.

"We won't," the leader said. "And even if they do catch us, they'll never take me alive."

"And what about _us_?" Larry muttered. "Are you gonna take us with you when you go out in a blaze of glory?"

"Just do what I say," the leader assured him, "and you won't be going anywhere except to Easy Street." The leader got to his feet. "Let's get out of here before church gets out." He tossed four silver dollars on the table, grabbed the last bottle of whiskey, and the four men walked out of the saloon, leaving a relieved Sweeny behind them. He walked over to the table and picked up the coins, the price of four bottles of whiskey, thanking whatever powers that be that his saloon was still in one piece. The coins went into his cash register and the memories of the four men began to fade as Sweeny readied himself for an afternoon full of customers ready for some post-church drinking and debauchery.

**=ooo=**

Harry walked out of church into the noonday sun, blinking and covering his eyes from the brightness. That had been a perfectly useless hour he would never see again, though he supposed every second he was still back in the 1880's was going to be a waste. In front of him, Lou and Mr. McCain were talking about the picnic and whether Lorrie would still want to go along. Mark was standing next to them, though he was looking around like he was searching for someone. Harry was looking around as well, planning to slip away as soon as he could and head back to Lou's rooms above the general store, finding something, anything to do there, even if it was nothing more than falling asleep in one of the plush chairs or on the divan while reading one of Lou's books on magic. At least she kept her rooms at a more reasonable temperature than the scorching heat outside.

Lorrie walked up to Lou and Mr. McCain, avoiding Mark. With the conversations of the people around him it was hard to hear what she was saying, but it sounded like she intended to go with them on that picnic. It looked like Mark wanted to go now, too, but his father was shaking his head. "You already made your choice, Mark," he heard Lucas say. "Now you need to live with it."

"Well," Lorrie spoke up, "it would be okay if Mark wanted to come, too. I wouldn't mind." Harry snorted softly; trust a girl to change her mind at a moment's notice!

But Mark's father was adamant. "No, Mark has chores to take care of back at the ranch. Don't you, son?"

"Yes, sir," Mark nodded, not sounding happy. "But how will I get home, Pa?" he asked. "We just got the buckboard."

"Oh, yeah," Lucas remembered. He thought for several seconds. "Well… you can stay in town and help Nils around his shop. I'll let him know before we go."

Mark nodded, looking at Lorrie, and Harry suddenly wished he could do something to help Mark out. He seemed to really like Lorrie, and it would be good if he could go on that picnic with her. For a moment Harry wished he could cast the Imperius Curse on Mr. McCain to make him change his mind. It was one of the Unforgiveable, but a hundred years in the past and thousands of miles from Britain, how would the Ministry ever find out? The only problem was, he had never cast it himself yet.

But… maybe Lou could cast it! From what she'd said to him, she didn't put a lot of emphasis on playing by the rules. She'd come to North Fork to buy up property she could sell to the railroad at a profit, knowing beforehand they were going to build through the town. That hadn't made her many friends, she said, though she hadn't been too concerned about that at the time.

Mark and Mr. McCain had gone to talk to Nils, the blacksmith, and Lorrie was chatting with other girls her age, leaving Lou alone as she walked back to the general store. Harry ran up and fell into step alongside her. "Hi, Lou," he said.

"Ah, Harry!" she said, clutching a hand to her bosom. "Ye startled me! So, have you reconsidered going on that picnic with us?"

"No," Harry said flatly. "But I think you should have Mr. McCain agree to let Mark come along."

Lou sighed. "Well, that's Lucas's decision, there's nothing I can do about it."

Harry looked at her a long moment. "Yes, there is," he said matter-of-factly.

Lou gave him a sideways glance. "What d'you mean, then?"

"Well, you could —" Harry made a wand-waving gesture with his right hand. "You know, a Confundus Charm, or maybe even the Imperius —"

Lou suddenly stopped, glaring at him. "Are ye daft, boy?" she hissed. "These are my _friends_ here! I'm not going to treat them like a bunch of bloody stupid Muggles —!" She cut herself off, then took Harry by the arm. "Come with me," she said, and marched toward the general store. As they approached the front door it opened of its own accord, and she pushed Harry inside and into the back of the store.

With the door shut behind her, she stopped and turned him around to face her. "What have they been teaching you in Hogwarts, anyway? The Imperius is an _Unforgiveable_, for Merlin's sake!"

"I know that," Harry retorted. "Our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor demonstrated it for us last year." Never mind that he was a disguised Death Eater who planned to deliver Harry up to the Dark Lord at the end of the year, never to be seen again.

"Then you should know why we never cast it on other people," Lou snapped. "It's too easy to use it for selfish reasons!"

"I was thinking of Mark!" Harry answered back. "His father should let him go on that picnic with you, but he's being unreasonable!"

"An' who are you to say so?" Lou demanded. "You're not Mark's father!"

"No, but I'm his friend!" Harry said. Lou gave him an _oh-really_ look. "Well, I'm kind of his friend. Don't you see he likes Lorrie, too!"

"Of course I know that!" Lou said. "Why it's as plain as the nose on your face that he's smitten with her!"

"Then _why_ are you trying to get me to go out with her?" Harry demanded.

"To make Mark jealous of you," Lou told him. "An' it seems to be working, too!"

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. "Huh?" he finally came up with. Then, "Well, you might've told me that."

Lou laughed, then pulled a kerchief out of her sleeve and wiped the sweat off her face. "I suppose I should have, Harry," she said, "but I wanted to see what your natural reaction to Lorrie was. Most boys your age don't really know how to act around girls, and I wanted to see how different boys were in the future."

_Not so different, I guess_, Harry thought. "Okay," he said, a bit mollified now that he knew what was going on. "But wouldn't it be better, then, if Mark were to go with you on that picnic? I mean, if he likes Lorrie —"

"I'm not going against his father, Harry," Lou said, her voice firm.

"You already did," Harry pointed out, "when you took me in. He wanted me out of North Fork — he looked pretty angry when he found out I was a wizard."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore," Lou told him. "I'll take care of that."

_That_ got Harry's attention. "You will? What will you do?"

"Obliviate Lucas the first chance I get," Lou said. "Most likely during the picnic we're going on. That way, he won't remember you telling him you were a wizard. I can make it so he'll only remember finding you and bringing you back into —"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head firmly. "You can't do that to him. Obliviating someone's almost as bad as using the Imperius on them!" At least that was what he thought, almost having been on the receiving end of a Memory Charm from Gilderoy Lockhart. If Ron's broken wand hadn't backfired in Lockhart's face, it might have been him and Ron spending the rest of their days in St. Mungo's, rather than Lockhart.

"Obliviation's a necessary spell, Harry," Lou objected. "We have to keep our magical abilities secret, and sometimes Muggles find out too much."

"Everybody keeps telling me that Muggles never even notice magic," Harry muttered. "But they seem to notice an awful lot whenever I'm around!"

"I know what you're thinking, Harry," she said, seeing the look on his face. "But that's not the kind of information that Muggles around here need to know. And it's different than Lucas making decisions about his own son, too!"

"What about Mark and Marshal Torrance," Harry asked. "You haven't done anything to them yet, have you?"

"No," Lou replied. She was giving him a stern look. "Harry, you realize that we can't afford to have what we are made public knowledge. People around here aren't much more enlightened than the people who burned witches 300 years ago! You saw how Lucas reacted to you once you revealed what you are. I know you did it thinking about Mark, but I doubt whether he would be able to deal with the idea himself. Americans can be very provincial in their thinking!"

"But Mark seems interested in knowing what he is," Harry argued. "He doesn't seem afraid of the idea at all."

"But he already has an idea formed of what it means to be a wizard!" Lou snapped. "He thinks they're evil minions of the devil!"

"You don't really know that," Harry said. "Have you asked him?"

"Now how could I ask him a thing like that?" Lou said, exasperated. "Talk of witches and devils doesn't come up in polite conversation! And if Mark told his father what we discussed, he'd wonder what I was on about, and suspicion would come back on me! And back on you as well, as my cousin!"

Harry ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "You might be right," he said at last. "But isn't this just about you being afraid to do something that could help Mark, and maybe North Fork, and even you as well?"

"What are you talking about!" Lou snapped, her voice rising. "Afraid? I'm a Gryffindor, young man, and don't you forget that! We aren't afraid of _anything_!"

"I'm Gryffindor, too," Harry said. "And I think that should mean we help others whenever we can. If Mark can be a wizard we should help him to _become_ on, not turn our backs on him because it might be inconvenient for us! That's what a Slytherin would do!"

Lou looked staggered by those words. She turned away from Harry, thinking furiously. When she turned back her face, though flushed, was composed and calm. "Maybe," she nodded. "Maybe you're right — maybe he ought to know what he is."

"I think he should," Harry nodded.

"I could teach him magic, if that's what he wants," Lou mused. "I was a prefect in my last three years, did I tell you that?"

Harry shook his head, smiling.

"I did a fair bit of student teaching," Lou went on, smiling at her reminiscences. "In six or seven years I might get Mark up to O.W.L. level, if he applies himself. And there might be a way to get him a wand, even out here."

"How?"

"That school in Salem must have wands for its students," Lou said. "They might even know if I can get a wand for Mark in San Francisco or St. Louis."

"And about getting me back home in the future?" Harry added, hopefully.

"If it's possible," Lou cautioned. She looked at him with a somber expression. "But I've been thinking about it myself, Harry, and I don't know if it will be possible or not. Time Turners don't go forward in time, and they're the only way we know how to travel through time."

"Someone must've spent a long time spinning a Time Turner, then," Harry said, with bitter humor. "At one hour per turn, to send me a hundred and ten years into the past must have taken — taken… well, a _lot_ of turns."

"They don't work that way," Lou shook her head. "They can only take you back six hours per day. That's what's so perplexing about you being here, Harry — there's no way a Time Turner could have brought you back to this time."

"Great," Harry said sourly, throwing up his hands. "No way to get back to the future — and now you say there's no way to get back here in the first place! From what you're saying, Lou, I shouldn't even _be_ here!"

Lou gave him a wry look. "Well, you're just about right about that, Harry." She looked frustrated as well. "I just wish we could write to Hogwarts about this — I'm sure Headmistress Mole could come up with someone we could do about this."

"Or Professor Dumbledore," Harry added. "But he's a hundred years in the future — there's no way to get a letter to _him _—" Harry stopped short. "Wait a minute. Why _can't_ I write a letter to him?"

Lou looked confused. "Well, you just said it, Harry — he's a hundred years in the future. You can't send a letter to a Headmaster who isn't even at the school yet."

"Sure I can," Harry said, grinning. "Because he _will_ be there in 1995."

Lou's eyes grew wide for a moment. "Begorra!" she exclaimed. "Of course you're right about that, Harry! Why didn't I see that before?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, pulling out his wand. He ran up the stairs to the door leading to Lou's room, with her right behind him. "_Alohomora_!" he said, unlocking the door, then dashed inside and over to the desk where she kept her papers and stationery. "I can write Professor Dumbledore a letter explaining when and where I am. If anyone can figure out how to get me back to the future, it's him!" In the middle of pulling paper, quill and ink out of her desk to write with, Harry suddenly stopped and looked at her. "It _is_ okay that I write him, isn't it?"

"Of course, of course," she nodded. "I'm just trying to figure out how we'll get it to him. We can't just send it to Hogwarts Castle. No Muggle can get within a thousand yards of the place without being repelled by the wards."

"Oh, right," Harry agreed. He rubbed the back of his head, thinking furiously. Nothing obvious was coming to mind. "I have an owl, Hedwig, that I use to send letters to my friends," he said, thinking aloud. "But I never even tried to send her across the Channel to Europe. How far can an owl travel?"

"An owl can fly as far as you need it to," Lou answered, "as long as you give it time and don't send it anywhere it can't catch food for itself. I just don't know if an owl could make it across the Atlantic Ocean." She went over to the globe of the world.

"No, it's just too far," she said, pointing to the distance from New York to England. "Even Newfoundland to Iceland is over a thousand miles. That's just too far for any owl to fly."

"Dammit," Harry swore. He _had_ to get a letter to Dumbledore! But how?

"Listen," Lou said. "Go ahead and write your letter, Harry. We'll try to come up with something. And maybe my summoning charm will bring an owl to us tonight, to send that letter to the Salem Institute.

"For now, I'm going downstairs and fix a picnic basket. And I promise," she added. "I'll try to convince Lucas to let Mark come along. But I don't want to curse him into doing it, you understand?"

"Sure," Harry nodded. "Sorry I asked you to curse him."

"Well, I understand where you were coming from," Lou said gently. "I'll see you later this afternoon. And don't forget," she added. "You're going to school tomorrow!"

"How could I forget?" Harry said dryly. Lou gave him a stern look, then smiled and went back downstairs, closing the door to her rooms after her and locking them.

Harry sighed and turned back to the desk, staring at the blank piece of paper in front of him, trying to think how to word this letter so Dumbledore wouldn't think it was a joke. Or worse, that Harry had gone crazy.

**=ooo=**

The man riding into North Fork in the middle of Sunday afternoon noted the emptiness of the streets. No doubt the citizens were inside, protected from the scorching sun overhead. But not from the heat. His horse, seeing a trough filled with inviting water, moved toward it, and the man allowed his steed to stop and drink. He could hear activity coming from inside the building he'd stopped in front of. The name on the front, North Fork Saloon, was the place he was looking for, though not with any anticipation of slaking his thirst, not unless he wanted to join his horse at the trough. The inhabitants of this town would likely not take kindly to his presence here.

Sighing softly, he stepped down from his horse and tied the reins to a nearby post with enough slack that his trusty animal could drink its fill. No one inside the saloon had yet noticed him, but that would soon change.

Moving silently, the man stepped through the swinging doors of the saloon and moved toward the bar, glancing around enough to take in the entire room without seeming to look around. Such was his quietness of motion that he had reached the bar before anyone took notice of him. Sweeny the bartender looked up in surprise as the man put his hand on the bar, saying only, "Water."

"W-what?" Sweeny stammered, staring at the man in surprise. "Don't you know I can't —"

"What the hell?!" someone shouted. "Where'd that Injun come from?!"

The bar was immediately in an uproar. "Throw him out!" several men shouted, advancing toward the man, while several others were saying, "Let him be!" or "Everyone calm down!"

Sweeny was holding up his hands, trying to restore order. He sorely wished Lucas McCain were here — the tall man usually commanded respect, and he wasn't one to treat people unfairly, even red men. "Everybody just settle down!" he shouted.

When the noise had died down and everyone was waiting to see what Sweeny would do, he looked at the Indian. "What are you doing here?"

"Me come for water," the man said in broken English.

"What's wrong with the horse trough?!" one of the ranchers shouted, and everyone laughed.

"Whyn't you go stick yer own head in, then," another voice said, and Old Joe pushed through the crowd to stand next to the stranger.

"You just keep your nose outta this," someone else said. "You don't belong here either!"

"Oh, is that the way of it?" Old Joe asked, looking at the others crowded around him and the red man next to him. "This town too good for old prospectors and Indians?"

"It's not that," Sweeny spoke up. "It's just that…" he faltered as every eye in the saloon turned toward him. "It's just that we don't see…too many…er —"

"You ain't gonna serve him, are you, Sweeny?" one of the ranchers said heatedly. "You don't serve no Injuns in here, do you?"

"I, ah —" Sweeny looked panicked, but he managed to say, "I served Marshal Buckhart, remember? He was a good Indian."

"The only good Injun is a dead one!" someone shouted.

"I 'spect they say that about us white men, too," Old Joe said. "Since we come in and took their land from them!" He looked at Sweeny. "You gonna give him some water or not?"

"I —"

"Don't do it, Sweeny!" several men shouted. They began to push forward, to grab the Indian and throw him out of the saloon, when Old Joe suddenly moved. He shoved the nearest man pushing forward into the others, forcing them to stop, and at the same time he pulled the man's gun from his holster, pointing it at the men.

"That's enough outta you boys," Joe said, moving them back, away from the Indian. "Give him a drink of water," he said to Sweeny without looking away from the men, all of whom now looked ready to pull their own weapons.

They watched as Sweeny put a mug of water on the bar and the stranger took it, drinking quickly, then set it down, empty, and nodded thanks to the bartender. "You ready to go?" Old Joe asked the Indian.

"Me ready," the stranger nodded, and Joe herded the men to one side so he and the Indian could walk toward the door.

Old Joe stopped at the door. "'Pears like this town could use a little more tolerance toward others," he said, pointing the gun upwards and turning the cylinder so the bullets fell one by one to the saloon floor. He tossed the empty gun back to its owner. "'Scuse me while I make sure this man gets out of town safely." The Indian untied his horse from and the two men walked away from the saloon.

"You took quite a chance coming in there, old friend," Old Joe said. His voice had changed; it was no longer the raspy twang of an old man, but strong and powerful. "I had planned to ride out and meet you later."

"Well, I _was_ thirsty," the Indian said mildly. His voice had changed as well. He no longer spoke in simple, childlike sentences, but in proper English. "And I _didn't_ want to drink from a horse trough."

"I understand," Joe said. "What did you find out about the men who rode through here this morning?"

"They are camped a few miles outside this town," the Indian answered. "Well away from any roads leading in, so they are unlikely to be noticed by the people in this area. I got close enough to recognize Crowley's voice, so it is his gang."

Old Joe nodded. "They spent a few hours in the saloon this morning drinking. I'm pretty sure they wanted a look at the bank."

"That _is_ what Crowley's gang known for, Kemosabe," his Indian companion said dryly. "Robbing banks."

"They rode past it as they were leaving town," Old Joe continued. "It looked like Crowley dropped something from his horse as they were riding by the building. It was hard to see with the gang's other horses blocking my view, but it looked like he spent a few moments peering through the bank windows."

"Probably memorizing the layout of the bank," the Indian suggested. "They might come back tonight and break in, try to open it."

But they don't stand a chance against the safe in that bank," Old Joe replied. "It has steel walls six inches thick. If you tried to blow it up you'd destroy the building around it before you broke through. It's too big to drag away, and bringing in a wagon to haul it away would take too long — it's certainly more than four men could handle."

"That's if they intend to rob the bank after it's closed," the Indian said. "What if they plan to rob it during the day, while the safe is open?"

"A good point," Old Joe nodded. "We'll have to find out what they're up to."

The two men were past the outskirts of North Fork by now. Old Joe stepped behind a clump of bushes that concealed his horse, a large silver stallion, hidden there earlier by the Indian, and removed his disguise. In a few minutes he returned, transformed into an entirely different person. He was younger than Old Joe had been, with dark hair and dark eyes, his features now partially concealed by a mask that covered the upper half of his face.

"We'll do more than find out what they're up to, old friend," he said to the Indian. "We're going to bring them in — the marshal here in North Fork will have ample cause to hold them once they've been identified." The Indian and the masked man mounted their horses and rode away toward the outlaw gang's encampment.

**=ooo=**

_Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts, 6 August 1995, 10:37 p.m. —_

The fireplace in the Headmaster's office roared to life with emerald flames within which a spinning figure could be seen. A moment later the figure spun out of the fireplace, coming to rest with an oddly echoing _thunk_ in front of the fireplace with wand drawn and pointing, not toward Dumbledore but covering most of the room. The man who had arrived was gray-haired and grizzled-looking, dressed not in wizard's robes but in gray leather armor that covered his entire body except for his head and hands, and a long gray cloak that whirled around him as he landed.

"Good evening, Alastor," Dumbledore nodded politely as the bright blue eye that had replaced Moody's own right eye spun madly about, searching every inch of the office for signs of someone hidden by Disillusionment or invisibility cloak, or for any scyring devices that might have been hidden without the Headmaster's knowledge or consent. "The room is secure, by the way."

"Maybe by _your_ standards, Dumbledore," Moody growled as his eye found nothing to be concerned about. "You being the overly trusting type."

"_Have_ you found anything I might have missed?" Dumbledore asked, a merry twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Your office is clear," Moody snorted, not pleased by the Headmaster's attitude. "I have to admit," he said, dropping into one of Dumbledore's plush chairs with a grunt, "I was a little surprised when you gave me this assignment, Albus. Sleuthing around for little-known and well-hidden information is your strain of tea, not mine. I'm just a broken-down retired Auror."

"You do yourself an injustice, Alastor," Dumbledore disagreed. "Your investigative skills have always been formidable; and, unfortunately, I find myself in the midst of a battle with Cornelius and the Ministry over the Defense position at this school. Are you certain you would not be willing to take on the position for the next year?"

"Not a chance," Moody said shortly. "Now, d'you want my report on the assignment or no?"

"Of course," Dumbledore nodded, hopeful to hear some good news. "Have you determined what happened to Harry Potter?"

"Kind of," Moody said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a letter, tossing it onto Dumbledore's desk. It spun as it landed, coming to rest right in front of the Headmaster so he could what was on the front.

_To the Current Headmaster of Hogwarts_  
_On or after 3 August 1995_  
_From H. J. Potter_

"Where did you find this?" Dumbledore asked, looking at the familiar handwriting. It was indeed in Harry's hand, but the envelope was worn and yellow with age, its frayed edges showing much handling over the years. If Harry had written this, it had been long ago.

"I'll get to that," Moody replied. "But first, let me tell you about the investigation. "You thought Potter might've been taken into the past using Muggle time-travel technology we don't know about. That seemed pretty far-fetched, but what do I know about what the Muggles are coming up with these days?"

Moody turned his neck first one way, then another; cracking sounds came from his neck as his bones readjusted. "Think I'm getting too old to be up this late. Anyway, I proceeded on the assumption that Potter would try to contact us here in the future, since we are his best chance for getting him back where he should be, as poor as that is.

"If we assume that Muggle technology exceeded our own magical means of time travel," Moody went on, "I had Madam Pince check for correspondence from outside the school going back as far as possible. And we had our first piece of luck." Moody reached into his coat again and held up a parchment envelope. "This was sent from the Salem Witches' Institute in 1903." Dumbledore stared at the handwriting on the envelope. It was not in Harry's handwriting.

**_The Current Headmaster on August 3, 1995_**  
**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_**

Moody pointed to the letter on Dumbledore's desk. "That was inside it."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers before him, looking quite interested. "The Institute had a letter written by Harry sent to us 92 years ago? How is it that Madam Pince did not notify me of this letter, or any of the previous Headmasters since then, for that matter?" He turned to look at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black on the wall behind his desk. "You were Headmaster at that time, Phineas. Did you read the letter?"

"Of course not," Phineas Nigellus said indignantly. "For one, it was well before the third of August of 1995, the date the letter said should be opened on or after. And secondly," he added with distinct disapproval in his voice, "it was from an _American_ witchcraft school."

"I see," Dumbledore murmured. "So you have no idea who sent it?"

"How would I know that?" the portrait sneered disinterestedly. "What happens in America can stay in America, for all I care about the matter."

"Have you forgotten you are honor-bound to help the current Headmaster of Hogwarts to the best of your ability?" the corpulent, red-face portrait near Phineas said severely.

"How could I forget, Fortescue," Phineas sneered in reply, "when you constantly remind me, though you are little enough help yourself."

"Enough," Dumbledore said firmly. "Alastor, did you try to determine who at the Salem Institute might have tried to send Harry's letter to Hogwarts."

"If it had come from a staff member or the administration there would have been a cover letter explaining the situation," Moody growled. "So I made a duplicate of the envelope and sent it to the school, requesting information on anyone at the Institute at that time that had similar handwriting. That was two days ago, the day you gave me the task. Earlier this evening I finally got a reply."

Dumbledore waited politely for Moody to continue, knowing that the former Auror enjoyed baiting him a little to get a reaction from him. Moody's expression turned dour when he realized Dumbledore wasn't going for the bait. "Right, then," he said sourly. "They sent me the name of a student whose writing matched that on the envelope. A kid named Jules Brown."

"What have you learned about him?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not much," Moody growled. He reached into his coat a third time, pulling a folder out and dropping it on the desk on top of Harry's letter. "He attended Salem Institute from 1898 to 1904 — it's a six-year school. An exceptionally bright student, according to his teachers, but not much on academics. Got C's and D's on his final exams in most of his classes — that's the American grading system, by the way, they correspond roughly to Acceptable and Poor in ours, though a D is still a passing grade in America," Moody finished disapprovingly. "He's a Muggleborn, too. His parents were Emmett and Clara Brown of Hill Valley, California."

Dumbledore was looking through the records from the Institute. "Other than his mediocre school record, there doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary about this Jules Brown boy," he told Moody. "Yet I sense that you suspect him of playing a role in Harry's abduction."

"Well, we ain't got to the weird parts yet," Moody said with a feral grin, made even fiercer by his facial scars. "I went to this Hill Valley and had a poke around."

"Ah." Dumbledore settled back in his chair. "So the _plot_ does thicken."

"It's as thick as a Sleeping Draught with too much flobberworm mucus," Moody said. "First off, the Brown family lived in Hill Valley from 1885 until 1895, when they all disappeared without a trace. This was Emmett and Clara and their two sons, Jules and Verne. Oddly enough, though, Jules school records list his permanent address as being at being at a post office box in Hill Valley for the six years he attended the Institute, even though his family had disappeared years before he began attending the school.

"Before that, I found that Clara Brown, neé Clayton, was born in New Jersey in 1855. The birth records for the boys were at Hill Valley City Hall; Jules was born in 1886 and Verne in 1888, listing Emmett and Clara Brown as their parents, but I couldn't find anything else on Emmett Brown back then, although I did come across this."

Moody handed Dumbledore a Muggle photograph. The photograph was of two men standing in front of a large clock face. "Brown is the one on the right," Moody said. "The clock was going to be part of the courthouse being built at that time. There was no information about the man on the left, not even a name, but it's not Jules or Verne — newspaper records from that time indicate this picture was taken in September 1885, before either of them were born."

Dumbledore studied the photograph for several seconds, then handed it back to Moody. "How does this help us, Alastor? I believe we have established that Jules Brown sent us the envelope that contained Harry's letter, which I have yet to read, by the way, and that Emmett and Clara Brown were Jules' parents, but that does not tell us how a wizard managed to travel forward in time almost 85 years to abduct Harry Potter, much less that Jules Brown was the wizard in question."

"I'm gettin' to it," Moody growled, reaching into his coat once again. He pulled out a page from a newpaper and handed it to Dumbledore. Dumbledore took it and looked at the date: May 23, 1985. "It says there that Dr. Emmett Brown was given an award for his efforts in promoting civic activities in Hill Valley. Have a look at the man receiving the award." The picture showed a smiling Emmett Brown shaking hands with a government official. "Now compare that picture with the man in front of the clock." Moody held up the picture Dumbledore had seen earlier.

"They look like the same man," Dumbledore noted.

"Right, though these pictures were taken almost 100 years apart," Moody added. "Here's something else." He handed another newspaper page dated August 2, 1962, to the Headmaster. The headline read, "Brown Mansion Destroyed." There was a picture of a disheveled-looking Emmett Brown staring at him. "The same Emmett Brown," Moody said, "but younger. The Hill Valley Records Bureau has a birth certificate for an Emmett Lathrop Brown in 1920. But we've got a picture of the man alive in 1885, and records indicating that he fathered two sons by 1888. That's impossible unless this Emmett Brown has a way of traveling through time."

"Or there are two Emmett Browns," Dumbledore added. "One in the 1880's and one who was born in 1920. It is possible that either Jules or Verne grew to adulthood and had a child named Emmett, after his grandfather."

"I suppose," Moody grudgingly agreed. He stood and walked over to stand in front of the fireplace. "That's why I brought the man back with me, so we could question him." His wand went out and rapped something invisible next to the fireplace, and with the sound of cracking eggs a figure faded into view: a motionless white-haired man in a white lab coat with an expression of surprise and alarm on his face. "This is Emmett L. Brown, from Hill Valley."

Dumbledore was not pleased. "You _kidnapped_ this man from his home, Alastor? I would not have authorized such an action."

"Yeah, I figured that," Moody retorted dryly. "That's why I decided not to ask for your permission."

"I wish you had, Alastor," Dumbledore replied. "If necessary, we could have traveled to Hill Valley to question this man rather than transporting him here against his will!"

"That would've wasted too much time," Moody disagreed. "You said time was of the essence in figuring out where Potter was. I'm just taking you at your word."

Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose we can do no more harm by questioning him now that he's here. Would you…?"

Moody nodded and canceled the Body-Bind spell that was keeping the man motionless. The man staggered, then stood gobsmacked as he looked around the room he was in. "Great Scott!" he exclaimed. He stared at Moody. "What did you do to me? Where am I? What place is this?" He looked at the fireplace behind him. "And how did I get here — I thought you threw me into a _fire_!"

"It was only Floo travel," Moody said, impatiently. "Didn't your kid tell you anything about how wizards travel?"

"It hasn't come up that much." Brown was waving his arms and legs, kicking them and stretching them in an apparent attempt to make sure they still worked. "And what did you do to me that kept me from moving? That could come in handy if I ever got into yoga or transcendental meditation — Clara has done that sort of thing in the past few —"

"Just sit down, Mr. Brown," Moody growled, pointing to the chair he'd been sitting in. "We've got some questions for you about your son, Jules."

"It's _Doctor _Brown," the man said, still looking around the room. "Doctor Emmett L. Brown. But you can call me Doc." His eyes suddenly narrowed with suspicion. "What do you want with Jules? And just who _are_ you, anyway? You're obviously not from the California State Board of Magic —"

Dumbledore stood and moved toward Brown. "I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Doctor Brown. I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school similar to the one your son Jules attended in America in the early nineteen-hundreds. This man is Alastor Moody, an associate of mine. I apologize that you were brought here against your will; we are seeking information on the whereabouts of a student of this school, Harry Potter, who was kidnapped several days ago from his home."

"What does that have to do with my son?" Doc demanded. "_Both_ of my sons are currently attending college — they would not have the time or inclination to kidnap someone — unlike some people I could name!" he added, glaring pointedly at Moody.

Dumbledore went to a black cabinet that was near the door to his office and removed a large stone basin from it. "Doctor Brown," he said, returning to his desk and setting the basin down in the center. "I have something I would like you to look at."

Doc looked hesitantly at the weirdly shimmering liquid in the basin. "What is this?" he asked in wonderment.

"This is a Pensieve," Dumbledore explained. "It is useful for examining one's thoughts, as well as allowing others to see them first-hand. Allow me to show you." Dumbledore took out his wand and placed the tip against his head near his temple. When he drew it away, silvery hair seemed to be clinging to the wand, but it was actually the same silvery-white liquid that filled the basin. "The memories I have added to the Pensieve are from the evening of August second, when Harry disappeared from his home on Privet Drive. I would like you to view them as well, then give us your impression of what you believe happened."

Doc looked apprehensive; afraid, even, but Moody took his arm and moved him toward the desk. "No harm will befall you, Doctor Brown," Dumbledore assured him. "You merely have to touch your face to the liquid in the Pensieve to see them. I will guide you to the thoughts I wish you to see."

Dumbledore leaned over the edge of the Pensieve, his face just above the shimmering liquid. He looked up at Doc. "If you would join me, Doctor…"

Doc gulped but slowly lowered his face toward the liquid. He and Dumbledore's faces touched the surface at the same moment. Only seconds later Brown jerked upright once again, an expression of dismay on his face.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed, as Dumbledore stood up as well, watching him carefully. "That vehicle! I was working on a replacement for my DeLorean — but I haven't installed the time circuits yet! How could —" He stopped talking abruptly.

"So you do recognize the vehicle?" Moody growled.

Doc nodded slowly. "It's a Ferrari Testarossa, the 1985 model. I bought it a year ago to use as alternate transportation to my — er, my other time machine, but helping my sons prepare for college took more of my time than I expected."

"You saw that it was able to fly," Dumbledore pointed out. And it vanished in mid-air after accelerating to a high rate of speed."

"We've seen flying cars before," Moody stated. "We also have a letter from Potter dating back to 1885, though he was born in 1980. Time travel back to the 1880s is beyond what any wizard or wizarding device can do. That means that it had to be you, or maybe one of your sons, that kidnapped the Potter boy."

"That doesn't actually prove that it time traveled," Doc objected. "But as the technology to allow cars to fly won't be invented for decades yet, it seems logical that is what occurred," he added, speaking almost to himself. "However," he went on, objecting to himself now, "we did not see the face of whoever was holding that wand I saw, so we cannot say definitively whether it was Jules or not!"

"Your son Jules was the only one of your sons that attended Salem Institute," Moody argued. "Your other son, Verne — was he a Squib?"

"He wasn't a wizard, if that's what you mean by a 'Squib,'" Brown agreed. "I knew he was jealous of Jules' ability to do magic, and I encouraged him to follow in my footsteps as a scientist. It's possible that he completed my modifications to the Testarossa." A smile spread across Brown's face. "Just think — only seventeen years old and he's already an expert in temporal physics!"

"Why was it able to fly?" Dumbledore asked. "As you stated, such a modification is impossible for Muggle vehicles with today's technology."

"It will be possible in 20 years," Doc said. "He probably took it forward to 2015 to have it hover-converted. A hover conversion allows the vehicle to fly under its own power," he quickly explained. "But we still haven't established that it was Jules who was using that wand!"

"There is something I noticed on this last viewing that I missed earlier," Dumbledore said. "The wand that appeared from the vehicle — it came from the passenger side of the vehicle. It would be unlikely for the driver to move all the way across the vehicle to wield a wand."

"I suppose that's true," Doc allowed.

"That means someone else was driving the vehicle," Moody realized.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "It may be that both of your sons are involved in Harry's abduction."

"But why would they _do_ such a thing?" Doc exclaimed anxiously. "It makes no sense!"

"Sometimes younger people do things that seem incomprehensible to adults," Dumbledore pointed out. "It may be that the only way we will know their true intentions will be to ask them directly."

"They are both away at Stanford right now, making preparations for their fall classes," Doc said. "But I can have a look at the Testarossa and see if the necessary changes for time-travel and hover ability have been installed." He looked at the two wizards. "You just need to send me back to my laboratory to check."

"We'll both go, I think," Moody told him.

"All of us will go," Dumbledore decided.

Moody snorted. "_I've_ been to Hill Valley, Albus," he reminded the Headmaster. "You haven't. And that's a long way for a Portkey to transport someone if they've never seen the place before."

"But only the Headmaster can allow passage in or out of Hogwarts via Portkey," Dumbledore reminded _him_. "We are thus at an impasse unless we cooperate with one another, Alastor. And I would prefer that we cooperate."

"Have it your way, Albus," Moody shrugged. "I was just trying to save you a trip."

"I'm not even sure how got I got here in the first place!" Doc complained. "Or even where I'm _at_!"

"Hogwarts is in Scotland," Dumbledore offered helpfully. Brown shook his head in disbelief.

"_Scotland_?!" he nearly shrieked. "What did you use, a transporter?!"

"Just magic," Moody told him. "Your kid must've told you wizards can travel pretty fast an' far when we need to."

"But not distances like that!" Doc said. "California to Scotland is…" his eyes got a faraway look for a moment, then refocused again. "Over 5000 miles! Jules just took his Apparition test a few weeks ago, but he never said he could travel distances like that!"

"That distance is beyond the capability of any wizard," Dumbledore informed him. "But we have other means of travel." He picked up a paperweight from his desk, a black, egg-shaped object on a small flat base. "Alastor, if you will enchant a one-way Portkey to Doctor Brown's laboratory, I will enable it to pass through Hogwarts wards."

Moody pointed his wand at the paperweight, saying "_Portus_," and it glowed momentarily with blue light. Doc stared at the object, transfixed. "I gave us 30 seconds," Moody muttered as Dumbledore took out his wand.

Dumbledore flicked his wand at it and the paperweight glowed white for a moment, then became black again. "Doctor Brown, if you would touch the paperweight with at least one finger. And do not release until I say, 'Now.'"

Doc put a finger apprehensively on the egg-shaped object. "Is this going to be like that fireplace thing I came through?" he asked. "That was not a pleasant sensation."

"This won't be like that, Doctor," Dumbledore replied.

"It'll be worse," Moody said, grinning, as the paperweight flashed blue.

"_Worse_?!" Doc tried to pull his finger away, but something had already caught him and pulled him forward, like someone with a leash around his stomach yanking him forward, and everything exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, whirling him and the two wizards madly around and around.

Doc was screaming at the top of his lungs, but there was no sound beyond a whoosh of wind, not even his own screams. Then a strong, deep voice that wasn't his own spoke, saying, "Now. Now. _Now_, Doctor Brown! Let go!"

Doc pulled his finger away, then felt himself falling, though he could see nothing around him but swirling gray mist. No ground below him, no sky above him, where was he? How fast was he falling? What would happen when he reached the ground? If this was how wizards traveled he'd stick to cars and trains!

His feet slammed into pavement and Doc staggered, though the sudden stop hadn't been hard or painful. Nevertheless, he fell over onto his backside as the two wizards appeared next to him, stepping forward to help him up even as they landed.

Once on his feet Doc looked around, realizing they were standing in front of the three-car garage next to his house in Hill Valley that he had expanded and converted into his laboratory. "Great Scott!" he whispered in shock, amazed at how fast they had traveled, if indeed they had ever really been in Scotland in the first place.

"This is your laboratory, Doctor Brown?" Dumbledore inquired, looking at the building. "Do you have your key?"

"It doesn't need a key," Doc said, feeling a little superior for the first time since he'd been spirited away from his work. "The door works on a set of keycodes known to only myself, my wife, and my two sons." He pointed to a keypad above the doorknob with buttons numbered 0 through 9. "It requires a seven-digit password to get in."

He punched the digits 3-1-4-1-5-9-3 and grasped the doorknob, but the door was still locked. "That's strange," he said, surprised. "Let me try that again." This time he punched in 2-7-1-8-2-8-2. Again, the door refused to open. "I can't understand it," Doc said, perplexed. "I'm sure I've entered the correct codes for me and Clara."

"You very likely did," Dumbledore agreed. He stepped forward, touching the doorknob and keypad. "However, this mechanism has had a magical lock placed on it."

"That's preposterous!" Doc snorted. "Who would do —" his eyes suddenly went wide as he realized the implications.

"Let me have a try," Moody growled, pointing his wand at the doorknob and muttering, "_Alohomora_." But still there was no sound of the door unlocking.

"Hmm," Moody looked at Dumbledore. "Looks like somebody took the trouble to use a very powerful magical locking spell." He pointed his wand again and it twitched several times. There was a buzzing sound as the locking mechanism frizzled and the door unlocked. "There we go."

Looking at his smoking, disabled lock, Doc shook his head and opened the door, leading the two wizards inside. He immediately noticed a problem. "It's gone!" he cried, pointing to an empty space where a car should have been. "The Testarossa is gone! Great Scott!"


	4. Come Together, Right Now, Over Me

**Chapter Four  
****Come Together, Right Now, Over Me****  
**

_Updated_ 8/24/2013  
Updated 9/21/2013

=ooo=

"Where is it?!" Doc was nearly hysterical over the disappearance of his new car. "I could have sworn I left it parked right _here_ when I brought it home!"

Dumbledore was staring bemusedly at the empty space Doc Brown was dancing around so excitedly. "When was the last time you saw your vehicle, Doctor Brown?"

"Let's see," Doc stared distractedly off into space. "It was two — no, three weeks ago that Verne and I went out to find something that would make a good replacement for my DeLorean. I was considering a Ferrari Modena but Verne liked the look of the Testarossa — oh where could it be!" he fretted. "I can't believe either of my boys would do something like this!"

"Right — what kid in his right mind would want to take his dad's high-powered sports car and drive it back and forth through time?" Moody said, deadpan.

"Exactly!" Doc agreed, completely missing Moody's sarcasm.

Moody looked incredulously at Dumbledore. "Exactly," he echoed.

"Indeed, exactly," Dumbledore agreed, merriment in his voice. "But Doctor Brown," he continued, serious once again. "You must admit this does not bode well for your argument that neither of your sons were involved in what has occurred with your vehicle.

Doc looked ready to argue again but suddenly shook his head in resignation. "Oh, what's the use?" he asked of no one in particular. "They did it — they must have done it! It's the only reasonable explanation — at least as reasonable as one can get when something as irrational as magic is involved!"

"Irrational?" Moody looked at the man, curious for the first time since he'd laid eye — and Eye — on him. "Are you daft? Magic isn't irrational."

"Oh no?!" Doc exclaimed. "Says the man with a big blue spinning eye in his head!"

"Peace, Alastor," Dumbledore said, before Moody could retort. Moody looked at Doc scornfully but managed to hold his tongue. "Doctor Brown," Dumbledore went on, "do you have any way of determining the location of your vehicle?"

"Of course!" Doc nodded excitedly. "I'd forgotten about the GPS tracker I had installed!" He ran over to a table where a number of odd devices blinked, beeped and chattered.

"What's GPS?" Moody asked Dumbledore, who shrugged. The two wizards walked up behind Doc.

The wild-haired scientist was punching buttons on a flat rectangular device in front of a large box with boxes of information showing along its front. "This won't work, of course, if the Testarossa is in the past, but since my sons are both at college right now, the car should be back here with them." Lines of numbers appeared on the large box and Doc examined them carefully.

"Yes, it's here!" he said, looking back at Moody and Dumbledore. "I'll have its location in just a few… Ah! It's on the Stanford campus, of course!"

"Do you have a picture of this 'Stanford campus'?" Dumbledore asked.

Doc looked at him, perplexed. "I doubt it. Why would I need a picture of a college campus — wait!" He spun and began scrabbling through a pile of letters on another desk. "I think I have a brochure the college sent me — actually my son Verne — a few months ago! It should be here somewhere — Voilà!"

Doc turned with a folded piece of paper in his hand, a triumphant expression on his face. He unfolded it and held it out for Dumbledore to see. It showed a picture of a campus quad, with students walking back and forth across it. "This is it!" he exclaimed. "The car is somewhere on this campus! I'm sure of it!"

Dumbledore, however, was not looking at the brochure. He was holding a parchment envelope in one hand and a single page of parchment in the other, reading it.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I know this is going to sound rather unbelievable, but after the Dementors attacked me and Dudley a few blocks from my home on Privet Drive, something very strange happened to me. Someone stunned me and when I woke up, I was in a forest in the year 1885 in a place called New Mexico Territory. That's over in America. I was found by a man named Lucas McCain and his son, Mark, and they helped me get to the town of North Fork.

I found out there's a witch living here, a woman named Lou who attended Hogwarts before she came to America. I'm staying with her now since Mr. McCain doesn't like the idea of wizards and witches being around his son Mark. What he doesn't know is that I think Mark is a wizard, too!

I wrote this letter and had it sent to Hogwarts hoping that you would find and open it just after I disappeared and find a way to bring me back to the current time. I mean the time I belong in, not now. I hope you can help me get back to 1995. I don't think it would be good for me to stay here, people are too scared of wizards in these days for it to be safe here.

By the way, I'll be starting school here next Monday — it's Lou's idea, she thinks I should act as normal as possible while I'm here. So please hurry!

Harry J. Potter

"What's that?" Doc asked, looking at the old parchment.

"It's a letter from my student, Harry Potter," Dumlbledore replied, folding the letter up and returning it to the envelope. He sent it to me from back in 1885."

"Smart boy," Doc nodded, smiling. "I did the same thing once, when _I_ was stranded in 1885. Is he happy back there? Did he decide he wanted to stay and enjoy the simple life?"

"Quite the contrary," Dumbledore replied. "He wishes to return to the present as soon as possible."

"So what's the plan, Albus?" Moody wanted to know. "Do we go get this Testarossa from Brown's kids then go back and get Potter?"

"Now hold on!" Doc objected. "I haven't given permission for either of you to use my vehicle to go off gallivanting into the past!"

"Do you think we really need your permission?" Moody growled.

"Well I should think so!" Doc exclaimed. "Certainly you could make me give you my car, but you have no way of knowing how it operates! In addition, the Testarossa is a two-person vehicle — I'll be very cramped in there with two full-grown men in there as well."

"You mentioned another time-travel vehicle, Doctor," Dumbledore said. "Is there room in it for more than two passengers?"

"Indeed!" Doc nodded. "There is easily room for four!"

"Are you willing to take us back to 1885 to retrieve Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked.

"I think it's a very good idea," Doc agreed. "People from the future should not spend too much time in the past — there's too much possibility of altering their own future, to the point where they could cease to exist!"

"You're not supposed to be able to alter the past!" Moody stated.

"But we do not know the consequences of traveling days or years into the past, Alastor," Dumbledore pointed out. "Our Time Turners cannot travel more than six hours into the past, and one cannot use multiple Time Turners to extend the six-hour limit."

"That is a much safer time limit," Doc noted. "But I must say, it's not very satisfying in terms of learning about the past."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore agreed, his tone mild. "But we mostly use our Time Turners to give students more time in which to learn during the day, not to visit the past for its own sake."

"Ah, yes," Doc said. He looked embarrassed, but said only. "Well, then! I suppose we should get going."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, taking out his wand again. "Doctor, if you would be so good as to visualize the location we will be traveling to…"

"What are you going to do?" Doc asked, giving the old wizard a guarded look. "Read my mind or something like that?"

"Not exactly," Dumbledore said, looking back into Doc's eyes. "Legilimency is not what you would call 'telepathy,' though the results can seem like it. I can detect flashes of images and feelings from you." He tapped the black egg-shaped paperweight he had used as a Portkey earlier. "If you would put your finger on the Portkey again, Doctor…"

=ooo=

"This is pretty good potato salad," Lucas said, taking another bite of the tasty concoction. "Where'd you find time to make this? We got going right after I got back from Nils's shop."

"I got it from the hotel, they'd made up a big bowl of it for supper tonight," Lou said, taking a small bite for herself.

"It sure is good," Lorrie agreed. "These, too!" she added, holding up one of the slices of fried potato that Lou had called "potato crisps."

The three picnickers were seated on a large blanket under a wide, shady tree in a grassy area a mile or so northeast of North Fork, along the road that led to the McCain ranch. Lucas had finished off a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches and a plateful of Lou's potato salad and was now relaxing with an after-dinner smoke. It had been a hot afternoon, but the shade of the tree and a breeze had made it tolerable.

"It's just too bad Mark couldn't come along as well," Lou said, glancing at Lorrie, who nodded glumly.

"Mark made his decision," Lucas said, a bit gruffly. "Don't worry, Lou — he'll get over it soon enough."

"I suppose," Lou said, sounding unconcerned. "Still…"

"Mr. McCain," Lorrie suddenly interjected. "Is it alright if I go look around for arrowheads?"

Lucas thought for a moment. "Okay, Lorrie, but stay within sight of us so we'll know you're all right."

"Yes, Mr. McCain!" Lorrie beamed, jumping up and pointing to a stand of rocks at the other end of the open field. "I won't go any further than those rocks, okay?" She moved off and began looking for arrowheads.

When Lorrie had moved out of earshot Lou turned to Lucas and said, "When do you think Mark will figure out how much he likes Lorrie?"

"I think he knows now," Lucas said, smiling. "He asked me this morning if he could go ask her parents if he could stand with them in church."

"Oh my," Lou said in surprise. "That is serious, isn't it!"

"Mark seems to think so," Lucas replied.

"And what do _you_ think, Lucas McCain?" Lou asked, giving him a shrewd look. "How long have you and I been standing together in church?"

Lucas smiled wryly. "It's been a while now, hasn't it? Maybe it's time I wrote your pa and asked if I could court you."

Lou's bemused expression turned to irritation. "Now don't you start bringing my father into this, Lucas! He doesn't have any say in who courts me!"

"Oh. Sorry," Lucas said, now grinning at her. "Well, I suppose we'll have to talk about that sometime."

"Why not now?" Lou suggested. "We're both right here, you and I."

"Ah, well, I meant Mark and me," Lucas corrected her. "I think I should see what he thinks about you first before you and I start thinking about courting one another."

"What?" Lou looked both surprised and outraged. "You know very well how much Mark likes me! Are you just trying to put off this conversation —?"

"Hang on a second." Lucas was suddenly sitting upright. "Do you see Lorrie anywhere?"

Lou looked around. If she were alone she could cast the Human Revealment Charm to find Lorrie in a second, but with Lucas there… "I thought she was just over in the field next to us —"

Lucas rose smoothly to his feet. "I'd better go look for her," he said, annoyed. "I certainly don't want her falling into quicksand again!"

"No, of course not!" Lou agreed. She watched as Lucas picked up his rifle and walked away into the field, looking around for a patch of flattened grass or some other sign that she'd fallen.

When Lucas was about 20 yards away, Lou slipped her wand from the pocket in her dress and muttered "_Homenum Revelio_," watching for the blue glow that would tell her where Lorrie was.

Lucas glowed blue too, of course, but he was in plain view. There were also blue glows coming from behind the rocks on the far side of the field.

The trouble was, there were _several_ humans behind those rocks, not just one. Why would there be more than one person behind those rocks? Lou couldn't think of any plausible innocent reasons why anyone would be hiding out of sight of the main road, unless they were — well, _hiding_.

Lou stood and walked up to where Lucas was moving back and forth in the grass, looking for Lorrie. "She might have wandered behind those rocks," she said, pointing.

Lucas looked where she was pointing, then sighed with exasperation. "Probably," he said. "Even though she said she'd stay in view! Well, I'll go check."

"Be careful," Lou said, putting her hand on his arm. Lucas looked at her, smiling, then held his rifle at the ready as he walked slowly toward the rocks.

"Lorrie!" he called out as he walked forward. "Are you there?"

A shot suddenly rang out, hitting the ground a foot or so from Lucas's feet. He froze, automatically cocking his rifle. "Don't move!" a voice from behind the rocks shouted. "We've got the girl!"

"What do you want?" Lucas shouted back, as Lou ran up behind him. In a low voice he hissed, "Stay behind me!" as she reached him.

"Nothing!" the voice yelled back. "She just walked into our camp without warning and surprised us! We're just camping here tonight before heading out tomorrow morning to join a cattle drive in Texas!"

"What did you shoot at me for?" Lucas wanted to know.

"Sorry, mister — we don't know you!" the voice said. "We saw a man walking toward us carrying a rifle — what were we supposed to think?"

"We were just having a picnic," Lucas said loudly. "You can send the girl back to us and we'll be on our way!"

Silence for a few seconds. "It looks like she's fainted," the voice said. "You'll have to come in and get her, mister!"

Lucas hesitated only a second. "All right, I'm coming in to get her!" he shouted back. He turned his head and spoke softly to Lou. "Go back and get behind the tree. I'll get Lorrie and we'll go back to town."

"Be careful," Lou said again. She really wanted to tell him how many people her spell had revealed behind the rocks, but she had no Muggle way of knowing that. "I think — I think there are more than one or two men behind those rocks."

"I think so, too," Lucas agreed. "The person talking keeps saying 'we' when he refers to himself. Now go on."

Lou nodded and started back toward the tree they'd been picnicking under, while Lucas approached an opening in the rocks. A narrow gap led through them into an enclosed area — it would make a perfect place to get ambushed. But there was no choice; Lucas squeezed through, ready to bring his rifle to bear on whoever was on the other side.

The gap opened into a small clearing surrounded by rocks on three sides, with more rocks scattered around the walls. In the middle of the clearing were two men, both with their hands up and away from their sides. Both were wearing handguns but they were both holstered. Of Lorrie he saw no sign. "Where's the girl?" Lucas asked, advancing on the men.

"Behind you."

Lucas started to spin but froze again when a rifle shot went off behind him. Two more men were behind him; one held Lorrie in front of him, a pistol pointed at her head, while the other man held up the rifle he had just fired. Lorrie was wide-eyed with fright, but her mouth was covered by the man holding her — small wonder she hadn't called out when he was talking to the voice earlier.

In front of Lucas the other two men had drawn their revolvers. The man holding Lorrie jerked his head toward the opening in the rocks, and the man with the rifle nodded and disappeared through it.

"Drop your rifle," the man holding Lorrie told Lucas, who set the butt on the ground and let it fall. "Kick it over here." Lucas put his boot against his weapon and pushed it toward the leader. It slid on the grass until it stopped just beyond the man's reach behind him.

"So you were just out on a picnic, eh?" the man holding Lorrie said. It was the same voice that had spoken earlier. "Well, it's just too bad that little Miss Inquisitive here found us in these rocks. It puts quite a damper on our plans."

"Which are?" Lucas asked, trying to prompt a reply.

"It won't matter to you, sodbuster," the man shook his head. "You and your lady friend and her — what, daughter? — won't be around to worry about them anyway."

At that moment Lou stumbled into the clearing, prodded by the fourth man's rifle. Puzzlingly, Lucas saw, she had brought the picnic basket with her. "Stop shoving!" she snapped at the man, then saw Lucas and hurried over to stand next to him. "What's going on, Lucas?" she asked in a worried tone. She saw Lorrie being held. "What've they done to Lorrie?"

"We haven't done anything to her," the man holding her said. "Yet. I'm afraid, however, that since you've found our camp we must do something."

"Thought you didn't want anything to happen to anyone before —" one of the other men had spoken but stopped at a sharp glance from the leader. "Well, you know," the man finished.

"Not while we were in town," the man said. "This is a different situation." He spoke to Lucas. "How many people know you're out here?"

"Everyone in town knows," Lou replied before Lucas could speak. "We're engaged to be married." There was a muffled gasp from Lorrie. Lucas's head snapped around to stare at her.

Lou stared back at him. "Well, there's no reason they shouldn't know, darling," she said evenly. She looked back defiantly at the man. "If you kill us, everyone in town will know something's happened to us. A big posse will be after you by sundown.

"But you could let us go," she continued, "and we wouldn't breathe a word about this to anyone. You could just go on your way and no one would be the wiser.

"We could do that," the man agreed, in a mocking tone. "But _you_ would still be the wiser. And I think once you're back in North Fork you might forget that you promised to be silent. No, I don't think we're going to take that chance. You've already ruined our plans — we can't stay around here any longer now that you've seen us. But we can make sure you never tell anyone else about us." He released Lorrie, pushing her forward toward Lou and Lucas. Lorrie stumbled forward, then turned and glared at the man, but moved quickly to stand next to Lucas.

"One thing," the man who'd released her, obviously the leader of this gang, went on. "You can hand over that basket of food — we might as well not have to worry about catching our own meal tonight."

"You'll have to take it from our dead bodies," Lou snapped.

"Well, that can be arranged," the leader said. "I just thought you'd like to make it easier on yourselves." He looked at the other three men. "Get ready," he said. "And don't aim for the basket; we don't want blood on our meals tonight."

"The blood on your hands should be enough," Lucas said defiantly. The leader just grinned and shrugged as his men drew their weapons and trained them on Lucas, Lou and Lorrie.

Lou pushed closer to Lucas, as if in fear, pushing her head against his shoulder. "Take hold of the basket," she whispered in his ear.

"What?" Lucas asked, puzzled by the strange remark.

"Do as I say!" Lou hissed quietly. "Tell Lorrie to do the same! Hurry!" Lucas whispered to Lorrie to do the same and both of them took hold of the basket's handle.

Back when she'd hurried back to their picnic area, Lou had managed to make the basket into a Portkey that would take them back to her general store in North Fork. She would have to Obliviate them afterwards, giving them false memories of returning to town, but it would be worth it to keep them all alive.

"All right, men," the leader said. "Get ready. Aim. Fi—"

"Nobody move!" a voice behind all of them commanded. The leader spun around, his revolver coming up to shoot, but a shot from the masked man's chromed Colt .45 creased his wrist, making him drop the weapon. At the same time another voice came from the narrow passageway.

"No one move," the new voice said in broken English, and an Indian emerged from between the rocks. Both the Indian and the masked man were holding a revolver in each hand, covering all four gang members.

"What the hell's going on?!" the leader rasped, holding his bleeding wrist. "Is this a hold-up or something?!"

"No," the masked man said in his strong, clear voice. "We're stopping you from murdering these people. Now drop your weapons or we'll fire."

The three men looked at each other, then decided they didn't like the odds. Two pistols and a rifle thudded on the ground. "Kick them toward the man and the women," the masked man said, and the three outlaws did so.

"Hands on your heads and back away," the man with the mask ordered. "Tie them up, Tonto," he said to the Indian, holstering one of his Colts and walking toward Lucas and the two women. "Are you all right?" he asked them.

"Yes," Lucas said warily. He pointed at the stranger's face. "What are you wearing that mask for?"

"That's not important right now," the man said. "What is important is getting these men back into North Fork. I believe the marshal there has wanted posters on these men."

"You arrived just in time, stranger," Lou said, relieved she hadn't needed to use the Portkey. "We're grateful you saved us!"

"It was my pleasure, ma'am," the masked man said, touching his white hat. "And Miss," he added, tipping it again to Lorrie, who was staring at the man in wide-eyed wonder.

"Men tied up, Kemosabe," Tonto said, still speaking in broken English. "We bring them to town now?"

"Wait a minute," Lucas said skeptically. "What makes you think Marshal Torrance is going to trust you any more than he would these men, if you show up wearing _that_." He pointed again at the man's mask.

The masked man turned and walked back a few steps to where Lucas's rifle lay. He picked it up and tossed it to him. Lucas caught it easily, then stared at the man who'd just armed him.

"I was hoping you could help convince him that my companion and I are on the up-and-up," the stranger said.

Lucas was silent for a time, then nodded. "We can put these men in the back of my buckboard," he said, looking at Lou, "if you and Lorrie can ride with these men."

"Aye," Lou said, nodding. She gave the masked man a smile. "I think I'd like that."

"Me, too!" Lorrie echoed, looking at the man as well.

"Good," the man said, though he looked a bit apprehensive about riding back with two women. Especially these two, who seemed more interested in him than usual. "Let's get going."

=ooo=

Harry hadn't spent more than an hour or so in Lou's study leafing through the various magical tomes before he tired of trying to educate himself. A lot of the theory he was reading was over his head, and without Hermione around to explain it to him he was rapidly tiring. He shut the cover of the book he was reading, a text on Advanced Transfiguration, and watched as it floated into the air and back onto the shelf he'd pulled it from. Any closed books in the room just did that on their own; it kept Lou's study uncluttered but it was a little aggravating if Harry just needed to take a break for a few minutes.

He glanced over at the writing desk, where his letter to Dumbledore still sat, waiting patiently for an owl to show up so Lou could send it off to the Salem Witches' Institute in Massachusetts. At this point, though, he had no idea how Dumbledore or anyone in the wizarding world could help him; if Time Turners only worked for a maximum of six hours into the past, and you couldn't use them to go forward, like Lou had told him, he was pretty much stuck here. And he still had no idea how he'd gotten here in the first place! His memories of what had happened after stopping the Dementors was still blank until he woke up in the forest where Lucas McCain had found him.

Worst of all, Harry thought glumly, was his having to start school the next day. It wasn't even a magical school, but a Muggle one — Harry hadn't been to a Muggle school since he turned eleven, four years ago. He would be starting his fifth year at Hogwarts, assuming he could get back to 1995 before he was 125 years old! He looked around the study, bored and frustrated. He had to get out of here for a while, do something more than just sit and mope.

He could find Mark, he realized, if Mark was still in town helping Nils Swenson, the blacksmith, with some chores around his shop. Maybe Harry could persuade him to take a break and ask some questions to see if Mark would be receptive to hearing about magic. Lou might want him to wait until she was around, he told himself, but on the other hand it might be too much, too soon if Mark found out both Harry and Lou were magicals.

Harry jumped to his feet, deciding on the spur of the moment to find Mark and talk to him. He ran down the stairs, throwing a "_Colloportus_!" over his shoulder to magically lock Lou's private living area. He went into the front of the store, looking around to make sure it was empty before starting toward the back to go out into the alley behind the store and over to the blacksmith's shop, but was stopped by a rapping on the window in the front. Now who could that be? The store was closed all day today and nobody was supposed to know Harry was in here!

Harry peeked through the curtains, then quickly opened the door to let the person outside in. It was Mark. "Hi," Harry said, a little surprised to see him. Mark came in and Harry shut and locked the door behind him.

"Hi," Mark said, sounding uncertain.

"Hi," Harry echoed, then motioned for Mark to follow him into the back, out of view of anyone walking past the general store. It wasn't supposed to be open on Sunday afternoon.

In the back room Harry turned back to face Mark. "How did you know I was here?" he asked.

"I — I wasn't sure you were here or not," Mark said. "But I have to talk to you about something."

"I have to talk to you about something, too," Harry blurted.

"You go first," they both said at the same time, then fell silent waiting for the other to speak first.

Finally Mark said, "I know who you really are — you're Harry Potter!"

Since Harry was going to say pretty much the same thing there was no reason to deny it. "How'd you figure it out?" he asked instead.

Mark pointed at Harry's hip. "I saw your wand the other night at dinner." He looked apprehensive, but took a deep breath and went on. "You were going to tell me something about me being a wizard."

Harry nodded. "I was. But what about your father? I don't think he likes the idea at all."

"He doesn't," Mark agreed. "But I think I should know, if it's about me and my life. Was your pa a wizard, too?"

"Yes, and my mother, but her parents were Muggles — er, I mean they were normal people. She found out she was a witch when she got a letter from a magical school that offered to teach her magic. The school sent me a letter too when I turned eleven."

"Oh." Mark looked thoughtful for several moments. "Why didn't I get a letter when I turned eleven?"

"I don't know how things work in America," Harry said, shrugging. "As far as we know the nearest school is in Salem, Massachusetts. That's supposed to be pretty far from here. It may be too far for them to send you a letter."

"What did you mean when you said, 'as far as _we_ know'?" Mark asked curiously.

Harry winced inwardly. "Ah, it was just a figure of speech," he said, trying to sound casual about it.

Mark didn't look convinced by that, but he didn't say anything. "Okay, so what about me being a wizard?" he asked.

Harry reached under his shirt and pulled out his wand. He handed it to Mark saying, "Give it a shake and let's see what happens."

Mark stared at the wand in his hand, then at Harry, clearly apprehensive about doing what Harry suggested. Finally he gave it a small shake, then jerked in surprise when red and gold sparks flew out of the tip. "What's it doing?!" he said nervously, handing it back to Harry.

"That wouldn't happen if you weren't a wizard," Harry said.

Mark looked both scared and excited by this. "Okay," he said nervously. "How do I do magic?"

"Well, you have to learn how," Harry explained. "You have to go to school to learn how to cast spells and brew potions and learn about magical animals and plants and stuff."

Mark looked somewhat deflated by that. "Go to school? How long do I have to go to school?"

"Hogwarts, the school I go to, is a seven-year school," Harry said.

"Seven _years_?!" Mark shook his head. "I've already been in school since I was six! That's been nine years! Now I've got to go for seven more!?"

"That's _if_ you can go," Harry warned him. "Your dad didn't seem too keen on you being a wizard in the first place."

"He thinks witches and wizards worship the Devil," Mark nodded. He looked worriedly at Harry. "They, uh, they _don't_, do they? I don't think I could do that."

"No witch or wizard has ever even mentioned the Devil to me," Harry told him. "We're wizards when we're born."

"How did I get to be a wizard, then?" Mark wanted to know. "My pa isn't one, and my ma — I don't remember her ever doing any magic or using a wand."

"It can happen sometimes even if neither of your parents could do magic," Harry said. "You're called a Muggleborn because both of your parents are Muggles."

"You said that word before," Mark recalled. "What's it mean?"

"Muggle just means a normal person, someone who can't do magic," Harry replied.

Mark nodded, digesting this. "Can you do some magic so I can see what sort of stuff you can do?"

"Uh, sure," Harry said, looking around the back room for something to use. He picked up a small wooden box with nothing in it. "This should do," he said, then pointed his wand at it and Transfigured it into a rubber ball.

"Holy cow!" Mark exclaimed. He picked up the ball and bounced it on the ground, then looked up at Harry. "How long would it take for me to learn to do that?" he asked breathlessly.

"I learned that last year at school," Harry said. "Or maybe it was in third year, I'm not sure. There's all sorts of spells to learn," he went on, warming up a bit to the idea of showing Mark magic. He pointed his wand at a sack of beans stacked nearby and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" The sack began to float in the air. Harry floated it up and over to a nearby table, then set it back down.

"Wow," Mark said, mightily impressed. "Okay," he went on briskly. "So if I wanted to get one of these wands like you have, where would I need to go to get it?"

"I don't have any idea," Harry said honestly. "Lou was —" he stopped abruptly, wishing he could bite back the words, but they were already out of his mouth.

"Lou was what?" Mark asked, giving Harry a piercing stare. "Does Lou know about magic?"

"Yes," Harry admitted. He might as well tell Mark; if Lou was going to be any help to him, Mark would have to know about her. "She's a witch. She thought she might be able to teach you to be a wizard, if you want to learn."

"Has she been teaching you?" Mark asked.

"I only got here a couple of days ago," Harry reminded him. "Everything I learned was in school back in Britain."

"Then why did you come here?" Mark asked. "Are you visiting Lou?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "I think someone brought me here, but I don't know why they did it. And —" Harry hesitated a moment. "And there's another problem, too."

"What's that?"

"Well —" But before Harry could continue there was a sudden pounding of boots on wood from the street, as if several people were running by the general store.

Mark was looking toward the front, too. "What's all that commotion?" he asked. "Come on!" he said to Harry. "Let's go see what's going on!" He started to turn and run.

Harry grabbed his sleeve. "Let's go out the back," he said quickly, and Mark nodded. They both scrambled out the back door, and Mark slipped through the small separation between building to the main street. Harry followed, but not before pointing hurriedly at the back door and saying, "_Colloportus_!" to lock it.

On the main street, people were hurrying toward the north end of town, where several people were riding in along with Lucas McCain driving his buckboard. As Harry and Mark got closer they saw what the commotion was about: in the bed of the buckboard were several men, tied up and thrown into the wagon like so many sacks of seed. Following the buckboard were two riders, but unlike anything Harry had ever seen before: one man was dressed in a blue shirt and pants, with a red kerchief tied around his neck and a white cowboy hat on his head. Most interesting, however, was the mask he wore across his eyes and the twin six guns gleaming on his hips. Riding next to him was a man dressed in buckskins with black hair held in place with a beaded band around his forehead. These two men were getting as much attention from the townspeople as the four men lying in the buckboard. Ahead of the buckboard were Lou and Lorrie on horses of their own, though Harry knew they had both left in the buckboard with Mr. McCain.

Lucas stopped the buckboard in front of the marshal's office and jumped down to the street. The masked man and the Indian dismounted their horses, and Lou and Lorrie started to get off theirs as well, but Lucas said, "Why don't you two go back to the hotel — we'll take care of this."

For once Lou didn't argue, she just nodded and turned her horse toward Madera House, with Lorrie in tow. Mark and Harry watched them ride up to the hotel, get off their horses and go inside. Mark looked like he wanted to follow them, but the scene unfolding in front of the marshal's office looked even more interesting. Mark and Harry looked at one another; by unspoken consent they both turned back to see what would happen with Lucas and the men tied up in his buckboard. After a few seconds, unable to contain himself, Mark ran across the street toward the buckboard, where Lucas was untying the feet of one of the men. Micah had come out of his office, a shotgun cradled in one arm, and gave the masked man and the Indian long, penetrating looks before turning back to watch Lucas untie the men's legs. Harry ran after Mark, curious himself about what was going on.

Lucas, seeing his son running toward him, put up a hand to stop him. "Mark, stay back — these men are dangerous."

Mark stopped in the middle of the street, looking anxiously at his father. "What happened, Pa?" he called. "Why are they tied up?"

Lucas didn't answer, he just glanced at the two strangers. The masked man spoke to Micah. "This is the Crowley gang, Marshal. They had captured Mr. McCain and the woman and girl with him. The girl accidentally came upon their camp and they were going to kill the three of them to avoid anyone else discovering them."

"That's not true," one of the men spoke up from the buckboard. "We thought the girl was sent to distract us while this man —" he jerked his head toward McCain "— snuck up on us with a rifle, to ambush us!"

Lucas shook his head. "That's not the way it happened, Micah. Lorrie went to look for arrowheads and disappeared. When I went to look for her these men had captured her. They ambushed me by pretending Lorrie had fainted. If these two men hadn't come along and saved us they would have killed us all."

Micah turned to the two strangers. "Is that the way it happened?"

"Yes, Marshal," the masked man said. "We had scouted where these men were camped and were coming to bring them in; it was fortunate we arrived before Mr. McCain and the others were harmed."

"You're going to take the word of a masked man and an Indian?" the man in the buckboard said scornfully.

"You be quiet," Lucas growled, grabbing the man's collar roughly. "You're going to jail for a long time." He reached for the next man in the wagon and dragged him to the edge to untie his feet.

"I'll let Judge Hanavan know he's got a case for his docket," Micah said as Lucas worked on the next man's legs.

"We'll be glad to go before the judge," the first man said. "You've got no case against us — he'll have to let us go."

"You've been identified as Ezra Crowley," the masked man said. "There's a wanted poster on you and your gang. That's enough to hold you until you can be taken back to Texas to stand trial."

"That poster's too vague," the man objected. "The descriptions could be about anyone — the Crowley gang always wore masks." The man directed a pointed glance toward the masked man. "It's not our fault we happen to be traveling toward Texas together."

"We followed your trail here _from_ West Texas," the masked man said. "Somewhere along the way here you buried the money you stole."

"Or maybe _you_ did that," the man said, cagily, "and you plan to pin it on us to throw suspicion off of _you_ and your Indian."

"Alright, enough," Micah said. Lucas had finished untying the legs of the last man; three of them stood together behind the wagon watching their leader argue with the masked man. "You four are going to jail — Judge Hanavan will see you at his convenience."

"I hope it's soon," the leader said. "We don't want to be late for that cattle drive." Micah shook his head and pointed to the door of the marshal's office.

As the men were going inside, Lucas walked over to where the masked man and Indian were watching. "Thanks again for your help," he said. "They nearly had us."

"We were happy to help," the masked stranger said. He turned to the Indian. "Well, old friend, I think it's about time we moved on."

"Hold it," Lucas said, frowning. "You're going to have to testify in front of Judge Hanavan — he'll want confirmation that these men are the Crowley gang!"

"You're right," the man in the mask agreed. "But it's also important that we recover the money they robbed from the bank in West Texas. That town lost nearly every bit of money it had when they stole it."

"Do you know where it's hidden?" Lucas asked.

"Not precisely," the masked man admitted. "But we know where they camped on their way here, we should be able to check those places for signs of anything buried near their campsites."

The Indian nodded. "That take many days, Kemosabe. It a long ride back to West Texas."

"Yes, Tonto, it is," the masked man said with a sigh. The sigh was more about his friend's broken English than the task of finding the stolen money.

"I'll talk with Micah and make sure he has Judge Hanavan hear the case as soon as possible," Lucas suggested. "In the meantime, can you stay at the hotel for a night or two until we get this settled?"

The masked man looked undecided. "I don't know, friend. Some people are uneasy when a man in a mask is nearby. I've explained to you that I wear it to keep my identity secret, but in most cases people don't understand."

"I'm sure for a day or so it won't matter," Lucas urged.

"I hope you're right," the masked man agreed, and shook Lucas's hand before he and the Indian turned and walked toward the hotel. Lucas went into Micah's office to make sure the four men were being safely locked up.

Once the four men were behind bars, Lucas walked out of the marshal's office and over to where Mark and Harry were still standing and watching. The townspeople gathered around the office began to scatter, going back to whatever they'd been doing before the excitement started.

"Did you finish helping Nils around his shop, Mark?" Lucas asked without preamble.

"Yes, Pa," Mark nodded. "He said he wanted to go get a beer." Lucas glanced over at the North Fork Saloon, seeing Nils, who raised a mug in greeting.

Lucas looked at Harry. "Your cousin had a bad scare today, James," he said seriously. "Make sure she's comfortable and that nobody disturbs her this evening."

"She wasn't hurt, was she?" Harry asked anxiously. He knew Lou could take care of herself but if she was trying to hide the fact she was a witch, she might've gotten hurt rather than reveal that to anyone.

"She's fine," Lucas nodded. "Just a little shaken up." Mark and Harry glanced at one another. It caught Lucas's attention. "What were you two boys doing before we got here?"

"We were just talking," Mark said. "We heard a whole bunch of people running down the street and we came out to see what was going on."

Lucas sniffed the air. "You two weren't…smoking, were you?"

Mark laughed. If was with relief, but he covered by saying, "Pa, I've already had my fill of smoking!" The last time he'd tried to smoke he'd been sick for the rest of the day.

"Well, okay," Lucas said. He hadn't smelled any smoke on either of the boys, but he still felt like something was up. "Why don't you go see how Lou and Lorrie are doing?"

"I'll go with you," Harry said to Mark, and the two boys ran off toward the hotel.

Lucas sighed, wondering what had really been going on. Finally he shrugged and walked back to talk with Micah once more, to let him know that the masked man and his companion would be staying in town. He walked past three men who had watched him bring in the four men and had stood among the townsfolk who'd stood around wondering what the incident had meant and what would happen next. But like the rest of the townsfolk, Lucas didn't notice these three men, even though he walked right by them. They watched as he entered the marshal's office.

Doc Brown was looking back around. "Boy, this brings back memories," he sighed. "This place reminds me of Hill Valley in the 1880's."

"You sure get around, Doc," Moody growled softly. There was no one around but the "ignore-me" spell Dumbledore had cast on the three of them didn't always work on idle conversation. A Quieting Charm would have taken care of that but it would have made it harder to hear conversations going on around them, and they wanted to know what the townspeople were saying. He looked at Dumbledore. "So how do we find Potter in this town?"

"We will need to question people about his presence here in North Fork," Dumbledore said. "Mostly boys around his age, like those two we saw go into the hotel after talking to the man who brought in those outlaws."

Moody laughed gruffly. "Yeah, _that_ should be interesting, watching you and me trying to question Muggle kids about Potter. We're going to stand out like sore thumbs."

Dumbledore looked mildly surprised, but nodded. "I fear you are correct, Alastor. Our appearance is inconsistent with the clothing and appearance of most of the inhabitants of this town. We would need to disguise ourselves quite drastically to be inconspicuous."

"Strangers are always conspicuous," Doc pointed out. "Most towns out in the Old West didn't get new people in town very often, they always called attention to themselves whether they wanted to or not."

"A valid point, Doctor Brown," Dumbledore said. "Thank you for pointing it out. I believe our course is clear."

"Good," Doc said emphatically. Then, "What _is_ our course, if you don't mind me asking?"

"We will send someone inconspicuous into this town to question townsfolk about Harry Potter," Albus replied.

"Ah." Doc nodded. "And who is that?"

"You are, Doctor."

"_Me_?" Doc looked flabbergasted. "I'm not inconspicuous! Just — just look at me!" Doc waved his hands around his shock of white hair and his white lab coat. "I'm as conspicuous as — as — as a dollar bill in a pile of pennies!"

"You'll do fine, Doc," Moody growled. "Dumbledore will make you blend right in."

"And there is one more thing, Doctor Brown," Dumbledore added. "In his letter Harry mentioned another magical living here, a witch named Lou."

"Lou?" Doc echoed uncertainly. A witch named Lou?

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "If you have the opportunity, you should talk to the women of this town. Perhaps you will find her and through her we can locate Harry."

"Fine," Doc said, but he was still confused. "Suppose I find a woman named Lou and she _isn't_ a witch? How am I going to tell the difference—should I ask her to show me her wand?"

Moody snorted. Dumbledore smiled and reached into his robes, producing a small pendant on a chain. The pendant was a silver image of Saturn — a ringed planet. "Put this on," he said, giving it to Doc, who slipped it around his neck. "Now look at it."

Doc glanced down at the pendant. It was glowing with a soft blue light. "That pendant will glow in the presence of a witch or wizard," Dumbledore said. "It will glow more brightly the closer you move toward them."

"How am I going to explain this if it starts glowing while I'm with Mugg— I mean, with normal people?" Doc asked.

Moody sighed, stepped up to Doc, then pulled his shirt forward and dropped the pendant into his collar. "Just keep it out of sight, genius."

"Once you locate Harry," Dumbledore continued, "we will return to your locomotive and back to our own time."

"Good!" Doc agreed. The three men stood and stared at each other for some time. "Uh, so what now?" Doc finally asked.

"Now," said Dumbledore, turning to point at a building. "We will acquire a horse for you and have you ride into town," he turned and smiled at Doc. "Inconspicuously."

=ooo=

Harry and Mark ran into Madera House then stopped, trying to figure out where Lou and Lorrie might have gone. The lobby was empty at the moment; even Janie Dawkins, the clerk on duty, was in the office doing bookwork. "Where do you think they went?" Mark asked Harry. He lowered his voice. "Is there some way you can find them with — you know." Mark pointed to where Harry's wand was hidden.

"It doesn't work that way," Harry whispered back. "I can't find anyone like that — at least not here," he added, wishing he had a Marauder's Map that would work in North Fork. But all of his possessions were back on Privet Drive, locked in his trunk, including the Map. The only thing he'd had with him when he ended up here was his wand.

But he didn't need his wand to figure out where Lou and Lorrie might be in the hotel. In the back of the kitchen was another small office where Lou kept the books for the kitchen. He would bet his wand they had gone back there to be away from prying eyes. If Harry had just escaped being killed by four men, he wouldn't want people looking at him, either. "Come on," he said to Mark. "I've got an idea where they're at."

Harry led Mark through the dining room, through the door leading to the kitchen, and past the two elderly cooks, who stared at them curiously as they walked by. Mark stared back at them, wondering why they were looking at him, but Harry gave them barely a glance.

In the back corner of the kitchen a room had been framed and walled off; there was a single door leading inside. Harry tried the doorknob, but the door was locked. Harry knocked on the door. "Lou? Lou?"

"Are they in there?" Mark whispered.

"The door's locked from the inside," Harry whispered back. He knocked again. "Lou, are you and Lorrie alright?"

There was silence for several seconds before Lou's voice finally spoke. "We're okay, _James_." She put emphasis on the name, as if reminding Harry who he was supposed to be. "We just need a few minutes. We'll come find you in the dining room when we're ready."

"Okay," Harry said. He motioned for Mark to move back and they stepped away from the door. "We're waiting here," he whispered. "They may try to sneak out the back door —"

"We can hear you, James," Lorrie's voice came through the door. "Boys always whisper too loud. Just go away."

Harry and Mark looked at one another. At the same time they both gave a small shake of their heads. "We're staying," Harry said aloud.

The silence from the other side of the door stretched for nearly a minute before anything happened. Then the door clicked softly and slowly opened. Lou stood in the doorway just looking at them. "If you must come in," she said resignedly, "then let's get this over with."

Mark looked apprehensive at this, but Harry simply walked into the office. After a moment Mark followed him. Lorrie was sitting in a chair next to the desk, red-eyed with dried tears on her cheeks. Lou hadn't been crying but her face was an emotionless mask as she returned to her desk chair.

Harry took a breath and plunged in. "Are you —?"

"Yes," Lou snapped. "We're _fine_. Thank you for asking. If that's all you wanted to ask then you march yourselves right back out of here."

"If you're fine then why are you crying?" Mark blurted out, looking at Lorrie.

Lou gave him an even look that Harry was tempted to join in. "Because women react differently than men do when we're threatened with death, Mark. It's nothing more complicated than that. We cry, we get it out of our system, and we move on."

Harry was trying to remember Hermione ever doing something like that. He couldn't come up with anything. Ginny had cried after the ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets, but she'd been only eleven at the time — Harry couldn't imagine her crying about anything now. Even the girls on the Quidditch team — Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet — had never reacted to stress or injury the way Lou had suggested all women did. "Okay," he said slowly, deciding not to challenge the statement in spite of his evidence to the contrary. "If you say so."

"What?" Lorrie looked up at him, anger in her reddened eyes. "You don't believe us?! I thought you were a thoughtful guy, James, but you don't know anything about women at all!"

"Wait a minute," Mark spoke up. "That's not fair! You don't know what Ha— what James knows about women!"

Mark had almost slipped up and said his real name, Harry realized. Maybe they should get out of here and leave Lou and Lorrie to calm down on their own. "It's okay, Mark," he said, backing out of the room and pulling Mark with him. "We can go check out what's happening at the jail."

Mark let himself be pulled from the room. Harry closed the door and walked back through the kitchen, still ignoring the two old ladies who were watching them and whispering as they prepared food for the dining room that evening.

Once in the dining room, however, Mark took Harry's arm, stopping him. "You're not giving up on talking to Lou, are you?" he whispered anxiously.

"Of course not," Harry whispered back. He glanced around to see if anyone was listening. "But we can't say anything in front of Lorrie — no telling who she'd run off and talk to."

"I guess you're right," Mark said, and walked toward the lobby. He stopped short as he saw who was at the registration desk. "Pa?" he said.

"Oh hi, Mark," Lucas said, looking at his son as Janie handed him a room key. "We're staying in town tonight — I'm going to help Micah while those men are in jail. Have you had anything to eat yet?"

"No sir," Mark answered. "Nils offered to buy me a sandwich at the saloon but I —" Mark didn't want to say he'd gone to find Harry. "— I wasn't sure I was hungry enough to eat right then."

Lucas smiled. "Not hungry enough to eat? That doesn't sound like you, Mark. Well, we can go get washed up and come down for dinner, if you're hungry now."

"I am!" Mark agreed enthusiastically, then remembered who was standing next to him. "Uh, what about James, Pa?"

"You're welcome to join us if you like," Lucas said to Harry.

"That would be swell," Harry said, managing not to roll his eyes as he said "swell."

"By the way, do you know where Lou is?" Lucas asked him. "I want to see how she's doing before we eat."

"She's back in her office in the kitchen, with Lorrie," Mark volunteered before Harry could speak. "But she didn't want to talk very much when we tried to see how she was."

Lucas wasn't surprised to hear that, but he wasn't going to say that adults didn't normally confide their fears to children — for one thing Mark, at 15, would be a man soon, and Lucas already knew he didn't like being coddled. "The shock of almost being killed is probably just wearing off," he said instead. "I'll go see how she's feeling now. And you two can help by making sure Lorrie gets back to her parents." Both boys nodded.

Before they could walk toward the kitchen, however, a man walked into the hotel lobby. He was dressed in rather unremarkable clothing, but what stood out about him was the shock of white hair his hat barely managed to contain. He looked around the lobby with a quick, nervous eye, then focused on the young woman standing behind the registration desk. "Ah, hello!" he said, walking quickly up to the desk, spurs on his feet jingling. "I'd like to get a room for the night."

"Yes, sir," the woman said pleasantly. "If you would sign in, please." She pointed to the registry then turned to select a room from the keys behind her.

The man picked up the pen and started to write, shaking the pen several times to start the ink flowing, until— "Ah yes!" he said, slapping his forehead with irritation. "Inkwell!" He dipped the pen in the ink and scrawled his name in the last line of the registry

**_Emmett L. Brown_**

"It's two dollars," the clerk said, and Doc pulled two silver coins from his vest and gave them to her as she handed him the key. "Room 23," she said. "Up the stairs, the second room on the left."

"Thank you, my dear," Doc said, smiling graciously, then turned to Lucas and the two boys, who had been watching him check in. "Good evening to you, sir," he said to Lucas.

"Hello," Lucas replied cordially. But a stranger arriving in town at the same time they had four outlaws locked up was pretty suspicious. "What brings you to North Fork?"

"I'm here looking for someone," Doc said. No matter what those two wizards wanted him to do, they needed to get back to the future as soon as possible. "Do you know anyone here in town named Harry Potter?"

"Harry Potter?" Lucas said sharply.

"Harry Potter?" Mark echoed in surprise, glancing at Harry.

_Oh crap_, Harry thought. _Now who is _this_ guy_? Could he be some wizard Harry didn't recognize, sent back from the future to find him? At that moment he noticed a faint blue glow coming from beneath the man's shirt. _What is that_? Harry wondered, leaning closer to see. As he did so the glow began to increase. Harry hastily stepped back, away from the man, and the blue glow faded.

"How do you know Harry Potter?" Lucas asked, stepping closer to Doc.

Doc took an involuntary step back, surprised by Lucas's aggressiveness. "I don't know him, I'm just here to find him. I was — sent, yes, sent, by some men back — back east."

"Well, he's not here," Lucas said curtly. "He left town a few days ago. My son and I found him in some woods north of our property and brought him here, but he caused some trouble and left."

"Trouble?" Doc looked worried hearing this. Had the Potter lad done magic in front of someone and gotten caught at it? "Did something…_unusual_ happen while he was here?"

"What do you mean?" Lucas asked suspiciously. This stranger was looking more and more interesting by the second. He probably had nothing to do with the Crowley gang, but if he was searching for Harry Potter, that could be even more important! "Well?" he added forcefully when Doc didn't immediately reply.

"Well, er," Doc stammered nervously. "I, uh, mean something — something out of the ordinary."

"I know what 'unusual' means, Mister," Lucas growled. "I'm asking what you think might have happened. That boy was no good — he tried to make my son Mark believe he could do magic. If you find him, you'd better get him out of here and make sure he never comes back! Now, if you'll excuse me — come on, Mark." Lucas strode toward the hotel stairs. "We'll get washed up in our room then come down for dinner."

Mark followed his father up the stairs, but he gave Harry a _don't-go-anywhere_ look as he went, leaving Harry alone with the stranger.

"Well," Doc said, looking at the stairs where Lucas had disappeared. "That was certainly enlightening." He turned back to Harry. "Excuse me, we weren't introduced. I'm Doct— I'm Emmett Brown. I'm a…private investigator looking for a boy named Harry Potter. Do you know anyone by that name?"

"Er, no," Harry said, wondering how this man knew about Harry Potter and where he had come from. _And_ what that blue glow beneath his shirt had been. He kept back from the man. "I heard he was here in town a few days ago, but I just arrived Friday night from Denver. My name's James Mallory, I'm a cousin of the owner of this hotel and the general store."

"Pleased to meet you," Doc said, holding out his hand, but Harry didn't come closer to shake. When Doc took a step toward him, Harry moved back. Doc stopped. "I'm not going to bite you, boy," he said, a little irritated by the child's aloofness. He looked around the lobby again, then at the stairs. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to take a short nap before I continue my search." He walked up the stairs and out of sight, leaving Harry alone in the lobby with the clerk, Janie.

"I don't blame you for not wanting to shake hands," Janie said, after Brown had gone. "He looked a little creepy to me." Harry nodded agreement.

"That's the second time strange room I've rented today, James," she added. "The first time was to that masked man and Indian, and now to that stranger. A lot of weird things sure happen in this town."

"I guess so," Harry said, wondering how much weirder things were going to get before he got out of here.

He did not have to wait long.

A kid ran into the lobby of the hotel. Harry recognized him as Tommy Meadows, the boy who'd tried to bully Harry his first day in town. "Hey!" Tommy yelled at Harry. "Do you know where Lucas McCain is?"

"Upstairs," Harry pointed at the stairs. "Washing up for dinner."

"You mean supper," Tommy said. "Anyways, Marshall Torrance needs him over at the jail!" He ran up the stairs. Harry heard him pounding on doors, yelling for Mr. McCain. He then heard Lucas and Tommy talking, but couldn't make out what they were saying. A few seconds later Lucas came running down the stairs, rifle in hand, and ran out the hotel door, followed closely by Mark and Tommy.

"Come on!" Mark yelled at Harry, and Harry took off after them.

Harry could run pretty fast (he'd had plenty of practice with his cousin Dudley and his gang chasing him all the time) but Mark outran even his father down the street to the marshal's office, where a crowd of townspeople were gathered outside. Mark stopped short at the edge of the crowd, but Lucas pushed his way through and went into the office. Mark started to follow him but Nils Swenson, the blacksmith, stopped him, saying, "You'd better not go in there, Mark, it's probably something to do with those bank robbers."

Tommy was trying to squirm through the crowd to get closer. "Come on," Mark whispered to Harry. "We can sneak around back see if Micah left the back door unlocked." The two of them slipped around the back of the building to where the back door was. Mark tried it but the door was locked. "Gosh darn it," Mark muttered. "I wish there was a way we could get in there."

"Maybe there is," Harry said. He took out his wand and pointed it at the lock. "_Alohomora_!" The lock _clicked_ and Harry turned the knob, opening the door.

"Wow," said Mark. "That's a pretty neat trick! Come on!"

They went inside, a dark back room where Micah kept spare bedding for the jail cells and other supplies. The door to Micah's office was open a crack and they both peered through it to see what was going on inside.

Lucas and Micah were both staring at a piece of paper Micah was holding. "Are you sure this is legal, Micah?" Lucas was asking.

"Of course it's legal," another voice, from someone out of view, retorted. "It's stated in the Constitution that habeas corpus cannot be suspended except in cases of rebellion or invasion. Lincoln did it during the war, but I don't see any of those things happening here."

"And just what do you think this piece of paper is going to do for you?" Micah asked, holding it up.

"You have to present it, and us, to the judge of this town and give just cause why you've imprisoned us," the voice said. "If you can't do that, we walk free."

"We have those wanted posters on you," Micah reminded him.

"Those _vague_ wanted posters with no pictures of any of the Crowley gang," the voice pointed out. "You can't hold us on that — you didn't before, when you had the chance."

"We've also got Lucas's testimony that you were going to kill him, Miss Mallory and the Patterson's daughter when they discovered you were hiding in a small clearing hidden by boulders," Micah said testily.

"That was a misunderstanding," the voice said smoothly. We thought he was using the girl to get the drop on us."

"What about —"

"If you're going to mention that masked man, Marshal, you'd better save your breath. He hides his identity for a reason — he doesn't want anyone to know who he really is. How trustworthy is someone like that?

"You just make sure that judge of yours has that writ first thing in the morning," the leader finished smoothly. Harry and Mark could hear someone's body drop noisily onto a bunk. "For now, we're going to get some shuteye. And we'll see you in court tomorrow morning."


	5. Showdown in North Fork

**Chapter Five  
****Showdown in North Fork****  
**

_Updated_ 9/6/2013

**=ooo=**

The town of North Fork, in the New Mexico Territory, was not a large town when compared with Santa Fe or Albuquerque; speaking of which, had recently been incorporated. But when everyone in town showed up outside the courthouse Monday morning to see how Judge Hanavan would rule on holding the four bank robbers, the street rapidly filled to overflowing.

In the marshal's office, Micah stood at the front door, watching with growing frustration as his job became harder by the second. "I don't know how I'm going to get those four to the courthouse," he muttered to the two men with him, the masked man and his Indian companion. "I only have three sets of leg chains and manacles, and we've got four men to move. I wish Lucas-boy would hurry up and get here."

"We can provide whatever help you need, Marshal," the masked man told him. "We'll make sure they are kept secure and under control."

"Sure," Micah turned to face the masked man. "But there's also the problem of _you_ wearing a mask. In most people's minds that marks you as a wanted man, whatever your actual reasons for wearing it are. I don't want anyone challenging you while we're in the middle of moving those men into the courthouse. You still have to testify in front of the judge so we can keep them long enough to extradite them back to Texas."

"I see your point, Marshal," the man in the mask replied. "But you'll still need help."

"That's why Lucas stayed in town last night," Micah answered. "He was up most of the night guarding those four. I finally sent him back to his room around four this morning. He should be here —" Micah glanced at the clock hanging on the wall of his office; it was almost seven-thirty. "— in just a few minutes. I have to admit," he added, a bit ruefully, "I never expected this thing to blow up like it did, with everyone in town showing up for the hearing."

At that moment there was a knock on the office door. Micah put a hand on his gun and cautiously checked through the window. "Ah, it's Lucas!" he said, relieved, and let the tall man in. "How are you feeling this morning, Lucas-boy?"

"Fine, Micah," Lucas said. He looked tired, though, from his vigil the previous night. "I sent Mark on to school, though it looked like most of the boys and girls in town were out in front of the courthouse."

"Looks like it," Micah agreed somberly. "Do you need some coffee before we get this show on the road?"

"I had two cups at the hotel before I came over," Lucas said. He looked at the masked man and the Indian. "Are you helping us move these men to the courthouse?"

"No," the masked man answered. "Your marshal thinks that could cause more problems than it would solve, due to my mask."

Lucas nodded unhappily. "I have to agree."

"But we can help get these men ready to move, then wait to testify before the judge in his chambers, as agreed upon last night," the masked man went on.

"Let's get started, then," Micah said, and the four men went back to where the four prisoners waited for their day in court.

**=ooo=**

"Quite interesting," Albus Dumbledore murmured, looking through a lobby window at the throng of people filling the streets of North Fork. "I would not have expected there were so many people living in proximity to this town, much less that they would congregate for a meeting at this early hour."

"You'd think they'd been called to a meeting of the Wizengamot," Moody growled, his brilliant blue Eye whirling in its socket as he took in everything going on in the street, in each of the buildings lining the street, and throughout the surrounding countryside. "I didn't think Muggles were that interested in their legal proceedings unless they were a part of them."

"It's human nature," Doc spoke softly, conscious of the woman at the front desk watching them. Or rather, _him _— the two wizards on either side of him were invisible to humans. The only reason Doc knew they were there was because they had come down the stairs this morning holding his arms to keep him from running out into the street to try and find Harry Potter. "Too many people" Dumbledore had said, and the other wizard with the strange eye had agreed with him. "Dealing with outlaws is risky business — I can tell you I had my fill of it when I lived back in 1885. It almost killed me, in fact."

Lou Mallory frowned as the stranger at the front window continued to mumble to himself. She had checked the registry — the last person to sign in yesterday had been an Emmett L. Brown, right after Lucas got his room for the night. And she was going to have to have a talk with Janie about the signatures above Lucas's! One person had signed himself in only as "Kemosabe," whatever _that_ was supposed to be, and the signature below that was "Tonto" — Lou had to wonder about someone who was named the Spanish word for "fool!"

"Well," Doc muttered to the wizards who stood invisibly at his sides, "if I can't go looking for Harry Potter —" Lou looked up sharply at this, though neither Doc nor his companions noticed "— can I at least get something to eat?"

"Of course, Doctor Brown," Dumbledore agrees genially. "In fact, I feel a bit puckish myself; it has been some time since I ate. Alastor — ah, but you prefer to prepare your own food and drink, as I recall."

"As you should know, Dumbledore," Moody said roughly. "I've only been doing it since before you met me! But if you and Brown want to eat whatever's put before you, don't let me stop you."

Doc turned from the window, addressing the red-headed young woman behind the registration desk. "My dear, how late is your dining room open for breakfast?"

Lou looked up at Brown, then glanced in the dining room. The place had been empty since Lucas left several minutes ago. He'd tried to ask how she was doing, but she merely smiled and told him everything was fine, and he left after giving her a skeptical stare. Mondays were usually light anyway, but today they were almost as silent as the grave. Lou managed not to grimace at that thought and smiled at the stranger. "Breakfast lasts until 8:30, sir," she said in a normal tone. "You have your pick of the tables this morning."

"Thank you," Doc said, then felt invisible hands on each of his arms that drew him into the dining room. Lou watched the man walk away with his arms held at unusual angles, his boots making a strange clomping sound as he walked. The boots didn't look out of the ordinary — why did they sound so strange when he walked?

In the dining room, Dumbledore and Moody steered Doc to a table out of view of the front desk — no use giving the woman there any opportunity to see anything out of the ordinary — and the three of them sat down.

A young woman came out of the kitchen door and over to where Doc was sitting. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked.

"Yes, a glass of water, please," Doc said. An invisible hand touched him on the arm and he jerked, startled. The girl took a step away from him, unsure of why he was acting so jittery. "Can I have two glasses of water?" Doc asked. When the girl raised an eyebrow at him he added. "I need to take some medication and the extra glass is to wash it down." The girl went off the get the water and Doc leaned in the direction of the touch on his arm. "If you know what you want to eat, tell me now — and don't touch me like that again! It's unnerving."

"My apologies, Doctor," Dumbledore said. "I did not realize how thirsty I was until you mentioned water. As for food, just order two of whatever you're having."

Doc nodded, then rubbed his forehead with both hands, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation he was in with these men. Back in time over 100 years to find a young wizard who had apparently been kidnapped by one or both of Doc's own sons, then brought here for some unknown purpose. After they found this Harry Potter and got him back to the 20th century, he was going to have a long talk with Jules and Verne about this!

At the front desk, Lou was thinking furiously about the stranger who seemed to know about Harry Potter. He'd muttered Harry's name to himself while staring out the front window. As far as she knew, the envelope they were going to send to Harry's school was still on her desk; but of course it that wouldn't make any difference if the letter was eventually sent.

The problem was, Lou hadn't ever cast the spell that would summon an owl.

It was difficult, being alone and being different from everyone around you, even from the viewpoint of being an independent, intelligent woman who wanted to make her own way in the world, much less being a fully qualified witch and having to hide it away from the world. When she first came to North Fork she had butted heads with quite a few of the townsfolk, including Lucas McCain, who had considered her hot-tempered and bossy at first. Over the past few months they had grown closer, had become very good friends, in fact, but…

But it wasn't the same as having someone who was like you around. Harry was only 15, and she was — well, never mind how old she was! — but in a few years Harry would be 17, legally an adult in the wizarding world, and from what he'd told her about his friends, many of them were redheads as well, including his best friend, Ron Weasley. Harry might want to get back to his own time, but he could make a good life here, in North Fork. With her.

Except that this Emmett L. Brown fellow was now poking around, probably trying to find Harry. Lou glanced toward the dining room. She couldn't see the man, he had sat at a table out of view of the front desk, but she had a bad feeling about him. Luckily Harry was still in his "James Mallory" disguise and he was off to the first day of school today. If she could convince Brown that Harry had left North Fork and gone, say, to Willow Springs or even Santa Fe…

Lou called the girl working in the office, Sarah, out to take over the front desk while she went to talk to this Brown fellow. His waitress had just delivered, oddly, two plates of eggs and sausages to his table. "How is your breakfast this morning, Mr. Brown?" she asked as she stepped into the room.

Brown jumped to his feet. "Fine, ma'am," he said, distracted by her sudden appearance. Lou noted that he hadn't yet taken a bite of his food.

"Are you enjoying your stay in North Fork?" she wondered, trying to draw him into telling her what he was really doing here. If it turned out he hadn't come from the future, she might simply Obliviate him and send him back wherever he'd come from.

"Oh, yes ma'am," Doc said, still standing, knife and fork still in his hand. "It's a very nice…little…town. A bit busy this morning, however." Doc nodded toward the street filled with townspeople waiting for the hearing to begin.

"Well, it's not often we have four bank robbers in town," Lou smiled. "That's not why you're here, is it?" Lucas had wondered whether this man was a part of that gang; it would be in her best interest as well as Lucas's if she found that out.

"Oh no, ma'am!" Doc waved his hands (and the knife and fork) dismissively. "It's just an odd coincidence that I showed up on the same day those crooks were caught!"

"Did you know that they tried to kill me and two other people?" Lou asked. "They were hiding outside of town and we accidentally discovered them. If it hadn't been for that masked man and his Indian friend we all would have been dead."

"Really?" Doc tugged nervously at his collar. "That would have been terrible ma'am, just terrible!"

"I'm Lou Mallory, the owner of this hotel, but you can call me Lou," she said, smiling at him.

"Very kind of you, Miss Mallory — Lou," he corrected himself. He glanced down once again, making sure that the pendant inside his shirt was glowing. Last night Dumbledore had rendered himself and the other wizard invisible to the pendant's detection, so they could stay near him without messing up the pendant's detection powers. This Lou Mallory was the only person close enough to him to make it glow. But how to let the two wizards know this woman was the one they were looking for? "Ah, how long have you been in North Fork, Miss — I mean, Lou?"

"Oh, a few months," Lou said lightly. "We're getting ready for the railroad to come through, sometime next year."

"Where did you live before, if I may ask?"

"In Denver," Lou replied. "But it was getting too crowded there for me. I like the wide open spaces around here much better."

The air above the empty chair next to Brown rippled and Lou stepped back, drawing her wand at the same time. Someone Disillusioned was sitting with the man! But as her wand came out and pointed at the ripple it suddenly shot out of her hand, stopping in mid-air on the other side of the strange cowboy. Disarmed, Lou grabbed a chair to heave at her invisible assailants, but it too jumped from her hands, flying across the room and crashing to the floor.

She should have run but at the moment she was too pissed off to do anything but put her hands on her hips and demand, "Show yourselves, whoever ye are!"

Two men shimmered into existence with the sound of cracking eggs: an elderly man with long white hair and an equally long white beard, dressed in a blue wizard's robes. The other man looked nearly as old, though his hair was dark gray, not white. He was dressed in dark gray leather and wearing a cloak, and where the other wizard had an aged but pleasant appearance, this man was _ugly_. His nose had a large chunk missing from it, there were other scar lines on his face, and one of his eyes looked — "grotesque" was the only word Lou could think of to describe it. And the man was holding her wand, having caught it out of the air as it flew from her hand!

"Now who are you two supposed to be?" She snapped, refusing to be intimidated by anyone, especially two wizards that sneaked around hiding behind some cowboy! "And what do ye want with me?"

"Our apologies for the suddenness of our appearance," Dumbledore said deferentially. "We are with Doctor Brown, having reason to believe that a young man named Harry Potter has appeared in this town within the last week or so. He does not belong here, and we wish to return him to his rightful home."

"Harry Potter, huh?" Lou said, quietly cursing her bad luck. "What d'ye want with him, then? You might be those Death Eaters he said was looking for him, to do something bad to him!"

"I assure you that is not the case," Dumbledore replied. "If we were Death Eaters, madam, we would not be explaining ourselves to you — we would be forcing you to tell us where the boy is before doing something rather unpleasant to you."

"Which might still happen if you don't cooperate with us," Moody, opposite Dumbledore, growled menacingly.

"Alastor, please," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand to quiet him. "We will do no such thing, Miss Malloy, but it is important that we find Harry and return him to his proper place. I am sure you understand how alone and frightened he feels right now, cut off from all of his friends and family and the world he knows."

"And what about Voldemort?" Lou asked evenly.

"Who's Voldemort?" Doc asked, suddenly agitated. "You never said anything about having to find someone named Voldemort!"

"Merlin's stones," Moody muttered. Then, to Lou, "Pardon my language," he said, not sounding very apologetic.

"Before we go any further with this," Lou said, holding out a hand. "I need my wand back. I need to stop anyone from walking in and seeing the pair of you like —" she gestured at Dumbledore and Moody's clothing "— well, like _that_."

"You are quite correct, Miss Mallory," Dumbledore said, taking out his own wand. With a flick the French doors at the entrance to the dining room closed. Another flick and the curtains surrounding them were drawn closed, as were the curtains in front of the windows. With a final flick all the doors and windows were magically locked. "We are now safe from prying Muggle eyes," Dumbledore advised, putting away his wand. "Alastor, would you give Miss Mallory her wand back?"

Moody stared at her a long moment, assessing the potential threat, then silently passed her the wand he'd caught. "Thank you," Lou said stiffly.

"And now, if you would give us young Harry's location," Dumbledore continued, "we will retrieve him and be on our way."

"I don't know where's he's at," Lou said, and it was the truth, as far as it went. He was _supposed_ to be at school, but he'd been protesting Lou's decision since she made it. She needed to give these men something that would keep him out of their hands for a while. She might be able to convince Harry to stay, even if only to stay away from that dark wizard, Voldemort that he'd talked about. From what Harry had said, his life was in danger back in his own time. Here he was safe — that dark wizard hadn't even been born yet in 1885!

"He had to leave North Fork a few days ago," she lied, her expression emotionless. "Someone found out he might have magical powers, and people are deathly afraid of witches and witchcraft — they feel we're all in league with the Devil."

"Do they think they're still living in the bleeding 17th century?" Moody snapped.

"Pretty much," Lou agreed. "Anyway, Harry left for Willow Springs a few days ago. I haven't heard from him since."

Dumbledore was looking piercingly into her eyes; she could feel his Legilimency trying to break through her Occlumency shields. Occlumency wasn't something many witches and wizards learned; it was difficult to use effectively and harder to master, but she'd found a way to take private lessons during the summers after her fifth and sixth years — a way to keep the professors and staff at Hogwarts from prying into her private affairs. She met the old wizard's eyes and projected the image of being absolutely truthful. She would have to hope it was enough.

"This is unfortunate news," Dumbledore said at length. "We should attempt to find Harry in nearby towns as soon as possible." He rose from his chair, his meal untouched, and Doc and Moody rose as well. "Thank you for the information, Miss Mallory."

Lou nodded sympathetically. "I hope you find him," she said. "I just wish he could have stayed here, but Lucas was adamant that he leave."

"Would that be Lucas McCain, the father of Mark McCain?" Dumbledore inquired. "Harry wrote that he opposed the idea of his son being a wizard."

"Er— yes," Lou said, warily. She didn't know what this wizard's interest in either McCain was, but she didn't want him talking to either of them. "Lucas is a good man, but he hasn't got past the superstitions of his forebears."

"I see," Dumbledore nodded absently, then seemed to dismiss the McCains from his mind. "Again, Miss Mallory, I thank you for the information on Harry, and we will be following your suggestion to search for him in other towns in the area. Come, Doctor, Alastor," he said to his companions. "Let us prepare to depart." As Dumbledore headed toward the door the window and door curtains opened, the doors unlocked, and the entryway to the lobby opened to allow the three men to exit. Lou watched them walk up the stairs with a sense of relief. That old wizard had powerful mind skills, she had learned; she hoped her own shields had been adequate to fool him.

Up in Doc's room, Moody pulled out his wand and cast an even dozen spells protecting them from magical scyring or detection. "You didn't buy any of that codswallop, did you?" he asked as he put his wand away. "I'd bet my retirement she knows where Potter is."

"She seemed pretty sincere to me," Doc offered. Neither wizard bothered to look at him.

"I detected no deception in her thoughts," Dumbledore said. "However," he went on, "I also detected no emotion of any kind in her thoughts."

"Aha," Moody grinned crookedly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Doc asked, confused.

"Occlumency is the mental discipline of shielding one's thoughts from a Legilimens, a person using Legilimency to detect the emotions and mental state of a subject," Dumbledore went on. "A competent Occlumens can shield their true thoughts and emotions from a competent Legilimens. However, they often do not think to control their body and facial language. Miss Mallory's face was not the face of someone being completely truthful."

"I knew it," Moody growled. "Why didn't you call her on it, Albus? We could have found out right then where Potter was!"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore murmured. "If I had thought to bring my Locator with me, we might have found Harry the moment we arrived in this time. Alas, however, that is one detail I neglected to consider. But there is another solution." He reached into a pocket in his robes and took out — a lighter.

At least, that's what it looked like to Doc. "I don't know if we're allowed to smoke in here," he said, looking around the room for a no smoking sign.

"This is not a lighter, Doctor," Dumbledore said, holding up the device. "I call it a Deluminator. It is useful when darkness is a help rather than a hindrance. Alastor, if you would."

Moody grunted, then silently pulled out his wand and pointed it at the window curtains, which flew shut, darkening the room. He then flicked the wand at the two wall lamps, setting them alight.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, then clicked the device once. The lights in the room suddenly flew toward the Deluminator and disappeared, plunging the room into darkness.

After a few moments the device clicked again and the lights flew from it back to the lamps in the room. Doc looked around, impressed once again by the magic he had seen.

"That is its primary purpose," Dumbledore said. "It also has a secondary use. Whenever someone says the name of the owner of this device, if they wish to find that person they need only click the Deluminator once, and a light will appear and enter their body, giving them the location of the subject."

"That's amazing!" Doc exclaimed. "Why haven't you used it to find Harry?"

"He has not yet said my name since we've arrived in this time," Dumbledore said, a little forlornly. "It is the only flaw in an otherwise brilliantly conceived device, that I must wait for that person to speak my name."

Doc was looking thoughtfully at the Deluminator. "What would happen if you just sent him a telegram?"

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore asked.

"A telegram," Doc repeated. "It's a message sent using Morse Code — a series of dots and dashes representing the alphabet. That's how people communicated in the Old West before the telephone."

Dumbledore and Moody looked at once another. "How would this 'telegram' work?" Moody asked.

"When a message comes into the telegraph office," Doc explained. "The telegrapher writes it down and has it sent to the person it's addressed to. If they have to, someone would walk through the town calling out the person's name until they came to collect it."

Dumbledore looked rather surprised at this. "That is quite an ingenious method of communication for Muggles to invent!" he said, smiling broadly. "Especially in these times!"

"The only problem," Doc went on, as he thought about it more. "Is that we'd have to find a nearby town with a telegraph office, send the message, then get back here before Harry could pick up it up and disappear again. I suppose your magical teleporter or whatever you call it could handle that —"

"Or," Moody said flatly, "we could just make the person who gets the message think he got one."

Doc looked blank for a moment. "Oh, right," he said at last. He stared at the two wizards, both of whom were simply standing and watching him. "What are we doing now? You told Miss Mallory we were leaving."

"And we will," Dumbledore concurred. "At least for the time being. Your idea has merit, Doctor Brown — we will repair to the telegrapher's office and a message will be sent to Harry Potter. If he claims it we will be there to collect him and return to our time.

"And if not, if someone reads the message I will craft aloud, they will speak my name and we will find that person and question them about Harry. Now, Doctor, if you have gathered your things let us be off."

**=ooo=**

Harry trudged slowly to the edge of town, to his least-popular building in North Fork, the school house. At just past eight a.m. he was barely late, but when he tried the door it was locked. Well, there was no _way_ he was going to Alohomora this door! Harry sat down on the steps to wait and see what would happen.

From what he could tell, everyone in North Fork was on the other side of town, at the courthouse, where the hearing for those four men should be starting right about now. He and Mark had snuck back out of the marshal's office after hearing about the "writ of habeas corpus" the leader of that gang had given to Micah and he and Mark had found a secluded area behind the blacksmith's shop and talked about magic. Mark was very interested in learning about it, but they had to find a wand for Mark to use, and they were going to need Lou's help with that.

But Lou had taken Lorrie back to her parents, and spent some time there talking with them; meanwhile, Mark's father had found them talking behind Nils' shop, and had questioned them again about smoking, then took Mark with him so he could get ready for bed. Even though it hadn't even been dark yet.

That left Harry alone to go back to the general stone, only to find that the door to Lou's private quarters had been magically locked, and even Alohomora wouldn't get him inside this time. But there was a rude cot and blankets in the back room of the general store, and Harry had availed himself of a few pieces of candy to suck on to pacify his stomach, which was grumbling because he had missed supper. He spent a long night tossing and turning, with rest eluding him for many hours before he finally fell asleep, only to be awakened seeming moments later by Lou, who ordered him up and over to the hotel for a very early breakfast so he could help in the kitchen until a few minutes before eight. Then he'd been sent _here_, to school, to serve his sentence for the day.

Only a minute or so after Harry arrived, Mark came riding up on his horse, dismounted, and walked up to the steps where Harry was sitting. "You the only one here?" he asked as he sat down next to him.

"Except for you, now," Harry nodded.

Mark looked back at the door to the schoolhouse. "Not gonna be much school today if you and I are the only ones here," he said, forlornly. They sat in silence for a minute or so. "What do you think we ought to do?" Mark finally asked.

Harry gave him an even look. "I think we ought to go see what's happening at the courthouse," he said bluntly. "It sure looks like we're not going to learn anything _here_ today!"

"Yeah," Mark agreed. Then he added, "but Pa said he didn't want me skipping school today, that he'd tell me about the hearing tonight."

"Lou said pretty much the same thing to me," Harry shrugged. "I think they both expected at least the _teacher_ to show up at school as well!"

"So we're not really skipping school if nobody's here to teach us," Mark deduced, beginning to grin broadly.

"Right in one," Harry said. He stood. "So what are we waiting for?"

"Race you!" Mark shouted, then bolted off the steps, running flat out toward the courthouse. Harry took off after him, yelling that he was a cheater, and in moments the North Fork school house stood deserted once again.

But where the school house had been all but abandoned for the day, the courthouse was thronging with townspeople milling about in the street, trying to see inside through the windows, and for the most part gossiping with each other over the latest rumors about the four men who everyone knew had robbed a bank in West Texas and buried the money somewhere in New Mexico.

Both Harry and Mark slowed down as they neared the courthouse, looking at the expanse of people blocking their way inside. "It looks like everyone in town is here," Mark said, looking at the size of the crowd milling about. "I wonder if the hearing's begun yet…"

Harry looked back at the marshal's office. "We can find out," he said softly, pointing his wand at the office. "_Homenum Revelio_," he incanted, seeing six figures inside the office glow. "They're still in the marshal's office," he said lowly to Mark. "Probably trying to figure out how to get through all those people."

"The courthouse has a side entrance," Mark remembered. "Pa knows about it, too — they could avoid the crowd if they go out the back of the marshal's office and around to that entrance."

Harry slipped his wand back under his shirt. "Maybe we should go remind him about it," he said to Mark.

"I don't want anyone seeing us going into Micah's office —" as Harry gave him a _what-are-you-thinking?_ look Mark snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah! We can sneak in the back way!" The two boys walked away from the crowd as if they'd lost interest, then slipped between two buildings and went around to the back of the marshal's office.

The back door was locked again but Harry's wand made short work of that obstacle. They crept through the storage area and pulled the door to the office open a crack. They could see Micah holding a shotgun pointed in the direction of the jail cells. There was a clang of metal on metal, and Lucas's voice spoke.

"That should do it," he said. "Now move forward. Slowly."

The four men shuffled into view. There were manacles on their legs, joining the first man to the one behind him, right leg to left, and so on with the others. There were shorter manacles on their wrists, so that the man in front had to hold his arm behind him while the man behind had to hold his forward.

"Pretty ingenious, Lucas," Micah said. "The chains will keep them from running but they can still stand side-by-side in court."

"It's still not going to make it any easier to get them through that crowd of people out there," Lucas added.

"I know," Micah grumbled. "There's so many people out there we won't be able to recognize everyone — if anyone in that crowd is in cahoots with these four we could be in for a rough time."

Mark glanced back at Harry, who nodded in tacit agreement. Mark opened the door to the storeroom and called out to Lucas.

Lucas looked over, surprised, then strode quickly over to them. "Mark! James!" he said in an angry whisper. "What are you doing back there! You should both be in school now!"

"The building's all locked up," Mark shrugged. "But listen, Pa! What if you went out the back door and around to the side entrance of the courthouse? That way you could avoid everyone out front!"

Lucas still looked upset, but he nodded. "That's a good idea, son, but that door is the outside entrance to Judge Hanavan's office, and it's usually locked — we won't be able to get through it."

"I could go in the courthouse and unlock it from the inside," Harry said. "Nobody will pay attention to me going in the courthouse." _Especially if I can cast an Ignore-Me Charm like Hermione taught me_, he added to himself.

"You shouldn't be involved in this, James," Lucas began.

"I already am, Mr. McCain," Harry said. "Mark's my friend."

"Hey, McCain," the leader called out in a sneering voice. "If you need to go powder your kid's bottom, hurry up! We're ready to see the judge and get out of this one-horse town."

"Alright," Lucas said to Harry, ignoring the leader's jibe. "See if you can get inside and unlock that door. Mark, you stand outside and watch that no one else is around. When it's clear you give that bird call you're good at — that'll be the signal we can get inside the courthouse."

Both Mark and Harry nodded, then ran back out the back door. When Lucas rejoined Micah the marshal quietly asked. "What was _that_ about?"

"They're going to make sure the side door on the courthouse is open," Lucas explained. "We can slip in that way instead of going through the front doors."

"How did they get in the back room?" Micah wondered. "I thought I made sure that door was locked last night."

"Maybe you're getting forgetful in your old age," Lucas joked.

Micah gave him a wry look. "I'm not _that_ old, Lucas-boy! Well, come on, let's get these four ready to go."

Mark and Harry crept around to the side of the courthouse. Mark tried the door; it was locked, as expected. "You just gonna unlock this door, too?"

Harry had actually been thinking about going through the courthouse, but that was actually a better idea. He took out his wand, pointed it at the door, saying "_Alohomora_!" and the lock _clicked_ open.

Harry pulled the door open carefully. "I'll be inside like I unlocked it from there. If everything's okay inside I'll tap on the door like this —" Harry tapped on the door with the _shave-and-a-haircut_ knock. "And you can come in."

"Okay," Mark nodded, and Harry slipped inside.

It was dim inside, there was only one window and it had a shade drawn across it, but Harry could make out a small office with a desk, a chair and a cabinet. Hanavan's office, then, just as Mr. McCain had said. There was another door across the room, with a funny glass window in it that made everything on the other side indistinct and blurry. There was a name on the door, it was backwards but after a few seconds Harry was able to decipher it: Judge Sidney Hanavan. He was probably out in the courtroom right now waiting for the men to show up. Harry tapped on the door with the agreed-upon signal and waited for them to show up.

As he waited Harry scanned the room as his eyes became more accustomed to what little light was filtering through the shade. The room was small, hardly big enough for six men to stand in, and Harry would only be in the way. When they came in Harry would have to go through the other door to be out of their way. He might actually need the Ignore-Me Charm Hermione had taught him to keep from getting in trouble. He brought up his wand, tapping himself on the side of his head and softly saying the words to the spell. He felt the charm take effect — he had cast it successfully! Now he could move more or less freely around most folks without being noticed, as long as he didn't look anyone directly in the eye or make too much noise.

Outside, Mark whistled his bird call and six men slowly moved around the corner of the building next to the courthouse: Lucas, Micah, and the four outlaws, shuffling along in their chains. Mark blinked in surprise as he saw the men: each of them had been gagged, which Mark didn't understand until he realized that if any of them cried out, people from the front of the courthouse might come rushing back to see what was wrong, and that would cause problems.

Micah was leading the line of men to the door, with Lucas bringing up the rear, his rifle at the ready. He nodded at Mark as they approached and Mark tapped softly on the door with the signal, then opened the door and stepped back as Micah silently ordered him to move away.

When the door opened Harry moved across the room and opened the inner door, stepping into the hallway beyond. He looked back and forth, seeing no one there, but he could hear the crowd of townsfolk at the front of the courthouse. They were becoming anxious for the hearing to begin, wondering where the four men where and why Marshal Torrance hadn't brought them over yet.

Micah exited the office, looking around. Even though Harry was only a few feet away the marshal hardly glanced at him before taking up position across from the door, ordering the four men to turn and walk forward slowly, one after another, until they were all in the hallway, keeping his shotgun pointed toward them.

Last through the door was Lucas. He stepped close to Micah and whispered, "Did you see James?"

"No," Micah whispered back. "I hope he didn't try to sneak back out through the front — it sounds like things are getting pretty restless out there."

Harry smiled. He was standing only a few feet from the two men. As long as he didn't look them in the eye or make much noise they would ignore him. If this spell worked as well on wizards as it did on Muggles it would be pretty handy.

"Let's get these four into Judge Hanavan's courtroom," Micah said, quietly. He went to the front of the line and began leading the men away. Lucas shut the office door then brought up the rear of the line.

After they'd turned the corner and were out of view, Harry went through the office and opened the door again. Mark was standing there; he looked surprised to see Harry. "I thought you'd gone on through the courthouse."

"Thought about it," Harry said. "I've got a spell on me that makes people ignore me. Oi, do you want to go watch the hearing with me? I can put this spell on you, too."

"Sure!" Mark agreed enthusiastically, and Harry cast the spell on him as well.

"Okay," Harry said after the spell was in place. "Don't look anyone in the eye, and be as quiet as you can."

"Got it," Mark nodded, and the two of them walked slowly down the hallway and into a foyer. There were two sets of double doors opposite each other. Behind the doors that led outside they could hear townspeople milling about and talking; the other set of doors were open and they could see Lucas, Micah and the four men. Behind the large judge's desk at the front of the room sat a white-haired man in a black coat, wearing a bow tie.

There were rows of chairs in the room, most of them filled with townspeople who'd showed up early enough to get into the courthouse. From the back Harry didn't recognize anyone. There were two men standing at the doors, looking toward the judge.

Harry tapped Mark on the shoulder and made a gesture for him to follow. They snuck past the two men and walked quietly up the middle of the room, then off to one side, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Taking up position along one wall of the courtroom, Harry and Mark saw that the four men were now standing beside one another, still in chains, though their gags had been removed. The old judge, Harry saw, was looking through papers scattered across his desk, a troubled expression on his face. Looking around the room, Harry didn't see the masked man or his Indian friend, though they had to be here to tell their story as well.

The judge put down the papers and picked up a gavel. He began tapping it on a wooden block. "I think it's time to call this hearing to order," he said, and the room quieted down.

"Let's bring this hearing to order," Judge Hanavan said formally. "This hearing is in response to a writ of habeas corpus brought before the court by Jason Biggsley, for himself and his companions Lester Dent, Harold Davis and Will Bogart. The Marshal of this township, Micah Torrance, is hereby enjoined to give just cause why these men should be detained. Marshal Torrance?"

Micah stepped forward. "You have the wanted poster, Judge. I believe these four men fit the description of the Crowley Gang: Ezra Crowley, their leader, and his men Morris Howard, Jerome Howard, and Lawrence Fine."

Hanavan picked up the wanted poster from his desk. "Yes, I have it here. Unfortunately, Marshal, this poster is not descriptive enough of each man to identify them individually. I think you know that already."

Micah did look he already knew — his expression was rather contrite. "I did, your own, but I also have — well, actual witnesses who can identify these men as the Crowley gang."

"Well, bring them forward," Judge Hanavan, a bit of impatience in his voice. "Where are they?"

Harry and Mark looked at one another. That would be the masked man and his friend! But where were they? Harry didn't see them anywhere in the courtroom.

The question answered itself a moment later when the side door next to Harry opened and the masked man and Tonto stepped into the courtroom. The room exploded with exclamations of surprise and fear as the people in the galley saw the two men.

As surprised as Harry was to see the two men, he was even more startled when the Indian half-turned toward Harry as he passed by — and _winked_.

"I think the masked man's friend saw me," Harry whispered in Mark's ear.

"Do you think he could be a wizard, too?" Mark whispered back. Harry shrugged. As scarce as wizards were supposed to be in these parts, it would be quite a coincidence to find three in just a few days here!

Judge Hanavan was eyeing the two men suspiciously. "This is highly irregular," he said tartly. "What is the meaning of that mask, sir?"

"It's to protect my identity, Judge," the masked man answered. "If my identity were to become known it would put several people in danger."

"Most people just use an alias," Hanavan pointed out. "If you're hiding your face it means you don't want it to be seen, probably because you'll be recognized."

"That's true in my case as well," the man admitted. "But I have committed no crimes, neither here nor anywhere else."

"Your Honor, I object," the leader of the gang suddenly spoke up. "If this man is allowed to testify it will violate my sixth amendment rights."

"Why don't you explain that to me," Hanavan suggested to the leader.

"Begging the court's pardon," the leader said deferentially. "But I'm sure your Honor _knows_ what the sixth amendment is!"

"I'd like you to explain your objection," Hanavan said, coolly.

"Well, that mask, obviously," the leader said, pointing to the masked man's face. I can't face my accuser if he's hiding his face. _He_ could be the bank robber for all we know!"

"That's hogwash!" Micah exclaimed. "He stopped you from killing three people!"

"That's _his_ story," the leader replied. "We were just having lunch in a shady place when some little girl comes barging into our camp, saying she was looking for Indian trinkets, and the next thing we know this man —" the leader jerked his head toward Lucas "was sneaking up on us with a rifle! Thank goodness one of my men spotted him before he got close enough to start shooting!"

"What about the woman who was carrying the picnic basket?" Hanavan asked, referring to Lou. "Did you think she was part of the ambush?"

"We didn't even know about her," the leader claimed. "She was on the other side of the clearing!"

"How did you know that?" Hanavan asked. Mark and Harry looked at one another, grinning. That was a good question!

"I sent one of my men out to scout around for anyone else nearby," the leader answered immediately. "He saw a woman running back toward the road and followed her. He said at first he thought she was going to drive away in the buckboard that was sitting by the side of the road, but she just picked up the picnic basket and was messing around with it when he reached her. He checked the basket for weapons then brought her back to our camp to question her."

"And what was in the basket?" Hanavan wanted to know.

"Just food, your Honor," the leader said. "But that doesn't mean they weren't planning on ambushing us!"

"Let's get back to the matter at hand," Hanavan said. "The question is whether this gentleman should be allowed to testify about your actions. From my viewpoint you are not being deprived of your sixth amendment rights; your accuser stands before you and you will have the right to cross-examine him after I've finished questioning him. Sir, will you come forward to be sworn in?"

The masked man stepped up to Hanavan's desk and put his hand on the Bible. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" Hanavan recited the oath.

"I do," the masked man answered.

"Take a seat in the witness chair," the judge said, "but please leave your weapons on my desk." The masked man placed his twin chromed Colt .45 revolvers on the judge's desk and sat down. "Can you tell us your name?"

"I am known to some as Kemosabe," the man answered.

"Why are you called that?" Hanavan asked.

"I am told the word means, 'trusted scout,'" the man answered.

"Describe what you saw when you encountered these four men yesterday afternoon," Hanavan said.

"NO!" a voice suddenly rang out from the gallery. A young woman stood up, pointing a small handgun at the man in the witness chair. Harry gasped — it was Janie from the hotel! She fired and the man toppled over backwards.

Janie tried to fire again but Lucas, who was seated in front of her, reached out and pushed her arm into the air, and the second shot went into the ceiling. Harry was drawing his wand to disarm her when suddenly a strong arm caught him around the middle and thrust both him and Mark through the side door to the courtroom.

It was Tonto. "Both of you get down!" he said, in perfectly normal English. "I have to see to Kemosabe!" Two more gunshots went off in the courtroom.

"But my pa —!" Mark cried out, but Tonto was already through the door, pulling it closed behind him. "Harry! We've gotta go back in there!"

Harry nodded and grabbed at the doorknob. At the same moment the door splintered as a bullet passed through it right above their heads. Harry and Mark both instantly flung themselves away from the door. "That was close!" Mark whispered.

A moment later the door flew open again and Tonto raced back into the room. "We go now!" he said, grabbing both boys and remembering to use his broken English. They ran down the hallway, the Native American practically carrying both boys, turning left and right seemingly at random to Harry, until they came once again to Judge Hanvan's office.

The ran through the office and out the side exit where Lucas and Micah had brought the four men inside earlier, then stopped around the corner of a nearby building.

"What's going on?" Harry demanded as Tonto set them down on their feet. "What happened with Janie back there?!"

"Don't know," Tonto shook his head. "Prisoners get Kemosabe's guns. Guards could not shoot through crowd. Men take keys for chains from marshal, get loose. They hold people hostage." Tonto looked at Mark. "Your father among them."

Mark's face whitened. "Oh, no," he said. "We've got to do something!"

"I can do something," Harry said, though at the moment he had no idea what that might be. He looked at Tonto. "You could see me and Mark earlier, when you came into the courtroom. You shouldn't have been able to do that."

"You have strong medicine," Tonto said. "But he who truly looks is able to perceive all."

"Er — okay." That didn't really tell him anything. He turned to Mark. "We can't go back the way we came — they'll see the door open before we can get in the courtroom. I think I can go right in the front doors and disarm those men before they realize I'm there."

"I can help!" Mark said instantly.

"No," Harry disagreed. "Wait outside with Tonto and if something happens you can try to sneak in, I'll leave the spell on you." He looked at Tonto. "Er, I hope you'll keep my secret — a lot of people in this town wouldn't like me if they knew what I could do."

"You're telling _me_?" Tonto smiled, dropping his broken English once again. "Don't worry, boy, I won't say a word to anyone — not even Kemosabe."

Harry nodded, and they walked around to the front of the courthouse, the crowd had drawn back in fear of being shot as the four men stood at the front of the courtroom, their hostages in front of them. Tonto and Mark hung back at the edge of the crowd while Harry crept forward, walking slowly through the front doors of the courthouse, trusting in the Ignore-Me Charm to keep him from being noticed. He stayed near the walls and peeked around the edge of courtroom entryway, sizing up the situation.

The four outlaws had each taken a hostage and were forcing them to stand in front of them to keep anyone from trying to shoot them. Each man had a weapon; Harry thought they had only Kemosabe's guns but one had another revolver (most likely Micah's since he was one of the hostages) and Lucas's rifle. The other hostages, Harry saw with dismay, were Janie and Judge Hanavan. Of the masked man there was no sign. If he'd been shot he was probably still lying where he fell, Harry decided. He was careful to keep his gaze from meeting the eyes of anyone, outlaw or hostage; if anyone noticed him and cried out it could be disastrous.

"Hurry up with those horses!" the leader was yelling. Harry hadn't heard their plan but it wasn't hard to guess: they would use the hostages to get to the horses, then ride away with one or more of them, probably Janie and Judge Hanavan. Harry wished he knew why Janie had decided to help these men — she seemed so quiet and nice.

"We're getting them!" Someone outside yelled back. From the Scottish accent Harry guessed it was John Hamilton, the banker, who was probably the most respected man in town after Lucas McCain and Micah Torrance. "Just give us a few minutes!"

"That's all you've got!" the leader yelled back. "Make sure there's enough food and water for three days!"

Out in the crowd, everyone's attention was on Mr. Hamilton, who by tacit approval had become the town's spokesman with the outlaws. But one pair of eyes, bright blue and piercing, were focused on Harry. Dumbledore had finally found him, but could do nothing at the moment. Beside him, Moody and Doc were watching anxiously as the confrontation continued. "What a hell of a time for that kid to show up!" Moody muttered under his breath to the Headmaster. "Does he think that damned Ignore-Me spell is going to protect him if one of those lunatics manages to catch his eye?"

"Harry is more resourceful than you believe, Alastor," Dumbledore replied. "He did manage to survive a battle with Voldemort."

"Yeah, by the fuzz on his chinny-chin-chin," Moody snarled. "If Voldie hadn't been playing with him he'd've been dead in seconds."

"It was indeed fortunate," Dumbledore agreed. "I wish there was something I could do to help him now."

"Well, what's stopping you?" Doc said. "Why don't you use that —" he stopped, making sure no one was paying attention to them "— you know, that — that — that thing of yours, do some hocus-pocus."

"'Hocus-pocus?'" Moody growled. "Doc, just shut up and watch. We'll take care of things if we need to. Until then it's Potter's play."

"Alastor, he is moving inside the courtroom," Dumbledore commented. "Keep your Eye on him."

"Right," Moody agreed. His Eye could see through just about any material, so keeping track of Potter was not a problem. "He's trying to maneuver his way around the edge of the room to get closer to those cowboys."

In the courtroom, Harry was finding it difficult to decide what to do without looking directly at anyone. With four weapons that could be used against him, he realized he could never disarm four opponents fast enough to keep them from shooting him or someone else. He moved slowly along the edge of the room, getting closer to the front, while the four outlaws argued what their chances of getting away were.

"We each need to take a hostage," one of the men, the one holding Judge Hanavan, was saying. "Otherwise they'll pick us off our horses!"

"They'll slow us down!" the leader replied. "We'll take the girl, and whoever's holding her can ride in the back — that'll keep them from shooting."

"Yeah, assuming they won't shoot _her_ in the back for betraying everyone in town!" another outlaw added. "I gotta admit, Crowley, you sure had a good idea, sweet-talking that gal into being your girl in case we got into trouble here."

So that's what had happened with Janie, Harry realized. He was nearly to the front of the courtroom — the four men and their hostages were lined up directly in front of him, with the man holding Lucas and his rifle the closest to him.

Mark had told him his pa was the fastest man in the territory with a rifle — maybe the fastest man in the world. If Harry could get that rifle out of the outlaw's hands and into Lucas's, he might be able to get the drop on the others. The flaw in that plan was that it still wasn't easy for him to direct where the weapon would go when his opponent was disarmed — he would have to practice that when he went back to school this fall. _If_ he got back to his own time…

Outside, Mark listened with growing apprehension to Mr. Hamilton and the leader negotiating for horses and food. What would they do to the hostages when they were through with them? Mark hated the thought of them taking his pa with them. He was a big man, but they could force him to remain a hostage as long as they took anyone else with them. Mr. Hamilton had sent men to the livery stable to prepare a half-dozen horses with three days of food and water.

Mark looked back at the livery. He still had the spell Harry put on him—maybe there was something he could do to slow the outlaws down and give any hostages a chance to escape. Mark slowly moved away from Tonto, who was intently watching for any sign of the masked man, then turned and ran toward the livery.

Nils and two other men were preparing the horses. "Make sure we don't miss anything," Nils was saying. "We don't want to give those men an excuse to shoot someone."

Well, Mark decided, there was a way he could help. He went up to one of the horses that had been saddled. Reaching underneath, he loosened the cinches on the saddle just a bit, enough for the horse to work it free over time. Normally you cinched a saddle tight so it wouldn't turn and throw you off the horse, but that's just what Mark wanted it to do now. He did it to two other horses; now there was a 50-50 chance that one or more of the bad men would fall off their horse as they escaped. And if one of the hostages fell off, the men probably wouldn't stop to get them! A pretty ingenious plan, Mark thought, satisfied with himself. And he did it without any magic! Mark watched as Nils and the two hands led the horses out of the livery, toward the courthouse.

"The horses are coming!" Mr. Hamilton shouted, and Harry had to make a quick decision — should he attack and risk the lives of the hostages?

"Make it quick!" the leader shouted. Harry's hand tightened on his wand. There really wasn't any choice. He would have to disarm as many of them as he could and hope Mr. McCain could handle the rest with his rifle.

The man holding McCain was the closest to Harry, fortunately, and he was holding it left-handed, so it was fully visible to Harry. He pointed his wand, aiming carefully, and shouted "_Expelliarmus_!"

The rifle flew from the outlaw's hand toward Harry, who caught it clumsily in his left hand. It was heavier than he expected. At the same moment Lucas, sensing the man was no longer armed, spun and hit the man with a left cross that knocked the outlaw into the wall behind him.

Harry wanted to throw the gun to Lucas but the other outlaws were turning toward him. The leader spun toward him, aiming, then realized Lucas was free and turned toward _him_. Harry shouted "_Expelliarmus_!" again. The leader's gun didn't fly from his hand but the weapon jerked as it fired and the bullet missed Lucas's head by inches. McCain ducked and rolled to a crouching position using the desk as partial cover. Janie and Judge Hanavan, released by their captors as the fight began, both fell to the floor, out of the line of fire.

"Mr. McCain!" Harry yelled, tossing the rifle at the same moment, then shouted "_Protego_!" as he caught sight of another gun pointed at him. Both the leader and the third outlaw fired at Harry; the impacts on his Shield Charm threw him back against the wall but the shield held.

Another weapon fired — Lucas had caught his rifle and was using it with deadly effect on the two outlaws who had just fired at Harry. His weapon roared five times, blasting the leader and one of the outlaws to the ground. The third outlaw, disarmed of the rifle, had run out the courtroom door where the crowed had grabbed him and thrown him to the ground.

That left a single outlaw still armed and holding Micah. He turned so the marshal was between him and Lucas's rifle, then pointed his weapon at Lucas. As he cocked the handgun, however, a gloved hand pulled him away from Micah and a fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him to the floor unconscious. The masked man had risen from behind the desk! He grabbed Micah as the marshal slumped weakly to the ground, his head bleeding from a blow he'd received while being taken hostage, and Harry could see a hole in the masked man's shirt over where his heart was. How had the man survived a wound like that?

Lucas rushed forward to see how badly Micah was hurt. "He'll be okay," the masked man said, helping Micah so he could lie on the floor. "He'll need some rest from the head wound but otherwise he's not harmed."

"Good," Lucas said, then looked curiously at the masked man. "How did you survive that gunshot to the chest?"  
The masked man smiled and reached under his shirt, pulling out a silver badge with a star in the middle and the words "Texas Rangers" engraved along the edge. There was a large dent in the star. "I always wear this over my heart," he said, showing it to Lucas. "In this case it saved my life."

Harry didn't wait around to see if Lucas or Kemosabe saw him — he snuck back along the wall and walked out the front doors where he saw the last outlaw being tied up by Nils and other townspeople. If they weren't sure before whether they were going to hold those men now (at least the ones who were still alive), there wasn't much doubt now!

Now outside, Harry was looking around for Mark when a hand descended onto his shoulder. He turned and looked into the gently smiling face of Albus Dumbledore. "Oh!" Harry said, startled. "Professor, you're here!"

"Yes, my boy," Dumbledore said, still smiling. "And well done on your helping to resolve that situation in the courthouse."

"Don't coddle the boy, Dumbledore," another well-known voice growled, and Harry turned to see Mad-Eye Moody standing next to Dumbledore. "There were a lot simpler ways to stop those men than the ones Potter used."

"But not for a student just about to enter his fifth year," Dumbledore pointed out.

Harry was barely listening to this conversation, even though it involved him. He was still scanning the street looking for Mark, and he finally saw him, running toward the courthouse. Harry raised his hand to wave toward Mark, forgetting that the Ignore-Me spell was still active and that Mark would have to meet his eyes before he could notice him.

But before anything else could happen a black object suddenly appeared in the sky behind Mark, spinning around even as it appeared, leaving a pair of twisted fire trails behind it. It looked like — Harry couldn't think of anything other than a flying sports car — and the passenger door opened as it stopped spinning.

Doc, next to Dumbledore, saw the car at the same moment. "Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "My Testarossa!"

In the next moment a hand holding a wand appeared from the inside of the car, pointing toward Mark, and Harry heard the person inside shout, "_Avada Kedavra_!"


	6. Back Home Again

**Chapter Six  
****Back Home Again****  
**

_Updated_ 9/27/2013

**=ooo=**

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Even before the first syllable of the Killing Curse had been spoken Harry's hand was going for his wand. There was almost no time to cast the Disarming Charm but Harry had to try. His wand out, he aimed at the wand pointing at Mark and shouted, "_Expelli_—"

But even as both wands fired — the red jet of Harry's Disarming spell and the green glow of the Killing Curse — a figure suddenly appeared from nowhere next to Mark, dragging him out of the path of the curse, which exploded the ground where he'd been standing. Mark's savior pushed him to the ground, drawing his own wand and pointing it toward the black Testarossa hovering above him. Harry finally recognized the figure and gasped — it was Mad-Eye Moody! Dumbledore stepped protectively in front of him, bringing out his own wand in the off-chance Moody needed any help.

Moody's wand twitched and there was a scream from the Testarossa. The door slammed shut and the vehicle flew away, gaining speed until it vanished leaving a trail of flames behind it in mid-air. Moody growled in anger then remembered the boy he'd just saved. "Are you alright, son?" he asked Mark, offering him a gnarled hand for support.

Mark hesitated a moment, looking at the man's disfigured face and his many scars, but took the hand. "Y-yes, sir," he said as he dusted himself off. "What was that —?"

"Hold on," Moody interrupted. His Eye had perceived people beginning to notice him, if not the boy, who had an Ignore-Me charm on him like Potter did. He rapped the boy on the head with his wand.

"Ow," Mark said, rubbing his head, then shuddered a bit as the sensation of a cold cracked egg ran down his face and shoulders. He felt his head then looked at his hands, gasping in surprise when he could no longer see them. "What — what happened to me?!"

"Hold on," Moody growled. He twirled his wand around his body, casting Disillusionment on himself. "Now come on," he said, grabbing Mark's arm and pulling him off the street. The crowd of townspeople converged on where he and Mark had been standing, trying to figure what had happened and where the man and boy who'd been standing there had gone.

"Alright, boy, now listen," Moody spoke quietly so as not to draw attention. "Someone just tried to kill you. The reason why isn't clear, but it's something to do with whoever brought Potter back to this time. You know who I mean, don't you?"

Mark nodded. "You mean Harry," he said. "He told me men in the future wanted to kill him. Did they come back after him?"

"Hardly." A ferocious grin spread over Moody's face, though the boy couldn't see it. "Those inbred idiots don't know about traveling through time — fortunately!" The thought of Death Eaters traveling through time to wreak havoc wasn't an easy one to contemplate, but there was still no way for any wizard to travel more than six hours in the past — at least not without one of the time machines Doc Brown had created. "Right now what we've got to do is find Potter and see what he knows about that car, if anything."

Moody put a hand on Mark's shoulder and steered him between two buildings, away from the street and crowd still milling about, trying to figure out what had happened. Mark tried to stop him, pointing back toward the crowd. "Harry's back there!" he said anxiously. "I saw him just before you grabbed me!"

"Maybe," Moody muttered, still moving away from the street. "Hopefully Dumbledore knows where he's at. Dumbledore, you hear me? Oh, there you are. Where's Potter?"

"Who are you talking to?" Mark asked, then jumped as an elderly man suddenly appeared a few feet away, alone.

"Harry has been taken," Dumbledore said, his voice grim. "My attention was diverted for only a moment, but I did hear the sound of a Portkey activating. Someone took advantage of that vehicle's distraction to spirit him away."

"Where's Brown, then?" Moody growled.

"Rather than risk Apparating with a Muggle, I told Doctor Brown where he would find us. Ah, here he is now," Dumbledore added as a disheveled man with wild white hair rushed up to them.

"Where are they, Dumbledore?" Doc asked, seeing only the old wizard. Of his leather-clad partner or the boy there was no sign. "I thought we were meeting them here — Great Scott!"

The air next to Dumbledore shimmered and Moody appeared. He tapped the air next to him with his wand and a moment later so did Mark.

Mark didn't know who this new fellow was or whether he was a wizard like the first two men, but none of that was important at the moment. "What happened to Harry?" he wanted to know. "You said someone took him away!"

Doc gave Mark a pitying look; it would be difficult for the lad to understand what happened to the Potter boy. "It's rather difficult to explain —" he began.

"I understand about time travel," Mark spoke up. "I've read a couple of stories like that in school. But Harry told me that wizards can only travel six hours into the past, so something other than magic must be involved. My guess would be some kind of science from the future. Am I right?"

"Er —" Doc said, momentarily stumped. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling with amusement, and Moody was giving Mark a lopsided grin. "Well, er, I suppose that could be considered a…more or less…accurate assessment."

"So I'm right," Mark said. "So if they just tried to kill _me_, what are they going to do with Harry?"

"That's a real good question," Moody agreed. His Eye had stopped moving and was staring straight at Doc.

"We don't have any proof _who_ took Harry!" Doc objected. "He might've run away on his own after seeing Dumbledore!"

"That is unlikely," Dumbledore disagreed. "In the few moments I spoke to Harry before he disappeared, he did not seem unhappy to see me. Indeed, I sensed he was quite relieved I was here."

"Uh oh," Mark said suddenly. "That reminds me — I haven't seen my pa since before the shootout! I gotta go see if anything's happened to him!" He turned to run but Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Mark looked back up at the tall, old wizard.

"Please, mister!" Mark pleaded. "Let me go find my pa!"

"I shall," Dumbledore nodded. "In fact, we will go speak to him together."

"I don't know about that," Mark said doubtfully. The old man was dressed in a dark blue robe that had many strange symbols on it, and wearing an even stranger — "bonnet" was the only word that came to Mark's mind. "You're not dressed like — well, like _anyone_ I've ever seen before. I'm not sure what Pa's going to think about that."

"I see what you mean," Dumbledore agreed, looking down at himself. "Well, when in Rome, as the old saying goes —" With a wave of his wand the robe and bonnet suddenly flowed, like they'd turned to water, becoming an old pair of trousers, shirt and vest; the bonnet became a tattered cowboy hat. "How do I appear now? More appropriate to the period and location?"

"Uh, yeah," Mark nodded. He shook his head. "Golly, I _gotta_ get one of those wands!"

"I will return shortly," Dumbledore said to Doc and Moody, "after determining what Mr. McCain knows about Harry."

"He thinks Harry is named James Mallory," Mark interjected. "He thinks he's related to Lou Mallory, the lady that runs the hotel and the general store."

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded knowingly. "That explains his somewhat altered appearance when I saw him."

"You recognized him, then," Mark wondered. "Even though he didn't look like Harry Potter? How did you know?"

"Magic," Dumbledore replied. He looked at Moody. "I've always wanted to steal that line from Minerva!"

"Well done," Moody said sarcastically. "Why don't you go have your chat with McCain — Doc and I will stay here and watch."

"I can't see anything from here!" Doc protested.

"Then I'll watch and you can wait," Moody snapped. "You can be thinking about how we're going to find that car and your sons."

Leaving Moody and Doc, Mark and Dumbledore made their way back to the main street, where the crowd was still slowly dispersing. Mark could hear a lot of conversations about what people had seen — none of them could really say for sure what had happened. Something had appeared in the sky over North Fork — a lot of folks said it was like a dark cloud, others that it was a balloon or something. What looked like a man had fallen from it, he had reached up trying to get back into it, but it disappeared with a crack of thunder. A moment later the man (or whatever he was — some people said he looked more like a monster) had disappeared as well.

They finally came upon Lucas questioning some of the townsfolk on Mark's whereabouts. "Here I am, Pa!" Mark said, waving a hand above his head.

"Mark!" Lucas exclaimed. He rushed over to where Mark stood with an old man in shabby clothing. "Are you alright? I've been searching for you for 10 minutes now!"

"I'm fine, Pa." And that was pretty much all Mark could say, other than how the old wizard had said to introduce him to his father. "This is Mr. Dumbledore," he said. "He told me he wanted to meet you."

Lucas nodded toward the old man. "Hello, Mr. Dumbledore. Do you know me?"

"No, sir," Dumbledore replied cordially. "Mark and I happened to strike up a conversation outside the courthouse this morning, and he told me you were helping the marshal take those four men to their hearing. I wanted to meet you and talk to you about someone we both know."

"And who would that be?" Lucas inquired.

"A young lad named Harry Potter," Dumbledore replied. Mark winced as the old wizard said Harry's name.

"Harry Potter?!" Lucas said sharply. "How do _you_ know him?"

"Perhaps it would be best if we talked someplace more private?" Dumbledore suggested.

Lucas looked at his son but said nothing. He pointed toward the marshal's office, a hard expression on his face. "We can talk in Micah's office. He knows about Harry Potter, too."

"Excellent," Dumbledore nodded, ignoring Lucas's sudden change of demeanor. The two tall men walked over to the marshal's office, with Mark following behind, until they reached the front door.

There Lucas stopped and looked at his son again. "Mark, you go wait for me at the general store," he ordered.

"But, Pa —" Mark objected.

"No buts," Lucas said firmly. "Go wait for me."

"This also concerns your son, Mr. McCain," Dumbledore said.

"I'll be the judge of that," Lucas snapped. But his expression turned anxious. "_How_ does it concern Mark? The Potter boy tried to tell me Mark was a wizard, that he could perform magic. But magic is a tool of the devil, used to bewitch men and trick them into damnation."

"It is nothing of the kind, Mr. McCain," Dumbledore spoke calmly but insistently. As if to demonstrate, he Transfigured his clothing back to his wizard's robes. Lucas's eyes widened in surprise. "Learning magic is no different than learning how to read — the only difference is that not everyone can do it. It is merely a matter of genetics."

"I don't know what — what 'genetics' is," Lucas said, doubtfully.

"It is a part of evolution," Dumbledore said. He gestured toward the door to the marshal's office. "May I explain, inside? With both you and Mark?"

Lucas was silent a long moment; finally, he nodded warily and he, Mark and the strange old man went inside.

Micah wasn't inside the office at the moment; he must be watching over the two outlaws that Doc Burrage was patching up. "I have heard of evolution," Lucas said. "It's some new theory about how man came from apes."

"It's called 'common descent,'" Mark supplied. "We learned about it earlier this year, just before school let out for the summer."

"I know about it, son," Lucas told Mark. "I'm on the school board, remember?" What he _didn't_ mention was that the board had voted not to renew the teacher's contract, for precisely the reason that she'd tried to teach evolution in school, which was clearly an idea that denied the truth of the Bible. A temporary teacher was supposed to arrive in North Fork last Friday, but she'd been delayed. Lucas had sent Mark to school anyway, hoping he would remain there instead of with the crowd outside the courthouse. But now this old man…

"Mr. Dumbledore," he said to the old man, controlling his temper in front of Mark. "I don't know what you think you can prove to me, but magic is unnatural. It's wrong, and it's not something my son is going to get mixed up with! As for Harry Potter, he left town several days ago and I haven't seen him since. I suggest you look elsewhere for him."

"You are mistaken, Mr. McCain," Dumbledore said. "The boy you know as James Mallory is really Harry, disguised by magic."

"What?!" Lucas turned to Mark. "Did you know that?"

Mark had a hard time meeting his father's eyes. "Well, I figured it out who James really was after seeing him carrying a wand."

"A what?" Lucas shook his head. "Never mind, we'll discuss it later." To Dumbledore, "Why was Harry Potter disguised as Lou Mallory's cousin?"

"We would have to ask Miss Mallory that, Mr. McCain," Dumbledore replied. "The spells used to disguise Harry's appearance were well above his current level of Transfiguration education."

"What are you saying?" Lucas demanded. "If the boy didn't alter his own appearance, who did?"

"I presume Miss Mallory did," Dumbledore replied, surprising Lucas. "Ah, she has not yet confided in you. She is a witch, you see, just as your son is a wizard."

Lucas took an involuntary step back. It was one thing for a kid to tell him his son could perform magic, but quite another for an older, more knowledgeable person like this Dumbledore to do so. He felt like he had no choice but to accept the truth of what the old man was saying. But— "Lou's a _witch_?"

"I may have spoken out of turn," Dumbledore admitted. "We are supposed to remain silent about such things so as not to alarm people who cannot perform magic. Many people feel threatened by the idea of someone who can do things they cannot, especially if it confers a survival advantage."

"You mean like 'survival of the fittest?'" Mark suggested. Dumbledore nodded, impressed with Mark's quick grasp of concepts heretofore unknown to him.

"I'm not threatened," Lucas insisted, but the words were hollow in his own ears. "At least," he added, "I didn't think so, until now." He looked at Mark. "Son, I think I've been unfair to you, and to Harry. When we find him, he's welcome to stay in North Fork as long as he wants." He looked away, back toward the general store. "And I should have a talk with Lou about — things."

Mark smiled. It was good to see his father finally coming around. "I think Lou can teach me about magic, Pa — if that's alright with you," he added.

Lucas looked at his son, then at Dumbledore, who was regarding them both with a merry twinkle in his blue eyes. "It's fine with me, son," he said, really meaning it.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Now, on to the matter at hand — my companions and I will begin the search for Harry Potter."

Lucas looked up suddenly. "Companions?"

**=ooo=**

Harry squirmed silently in the seat of the Testarossa, between the two young men who had kidnapped him practically out of the hands of Professor Dumbledore. He had been bound by the Incarcerous Jinx and silenced with a Silencing Charm. Harry had been standing right behind the professor, watching as Mad-Eye Moody and Mark disappeared from sight, when he felt something touch his back. He tried to turn but had been caught by the hook-behind-the-navel sensation of Portkey travel, and was suddenly standing next to the black vehicle he had seen once before, hovering above him in the alley between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. He tried to ask them what they were up to but before he could say anything he was bound, silenced and thrown into the car. Now the two young men, one with sandy brown hair, the other with blond hair that reminded him of Draco Malfoy, were having a row for some reason.

"You really are something, you know that?" the sandy-haired one, who was driving the car or whatever it was they were in, was saying to other. Looking out the windscreen, Harry could see they were in the air; he couldn't see a road or anything they were traveling along.

"It's not _my_ fault he was disguised!" the blond bloke retorted, waving his wand (a _wand_!) at the sandy-haired bloke. "He _looked_ like Marcanus! Or at least what I thought Marcanus looked like when he was fifteen!"

Harry leaned over so he could see himself in the rear-view mirror. He looked like himself again, with black hair, green eyes and round, black-framed glasses. He nudged the blond guy, trying to get to remove the Silencing Charm. The blond finally sighed and flicked his wand at Harry. "What do _you_ want?"

"I want to know why you bloody kidnapped me!" Harry said loudly. "Now and before! And what the hell are you doing with a flying car in 1885?!"

"We weren't trying to kidnap _you_, Potter," the sandy-haired bloke said. "My moron of a brother thought he was Marcanus."

"Who's Marcanus?" Harry wanted to know.

"He's the wizard who destroyed the world," the blond said.

**=ooo=**

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry demanded.

"You wouldn't know anything about it," the blond said. "The only reason you even exist right now is because we took you from 1995 and brought you 100 years into the past, the year everything changed for the world."

"We screwed up," Sandy-Hair said grimly. "We were just having a bit of fun. Our father, Emmett Brown, had just bought this car and was going to install time-travel circuitry in it. We — my brother Verne and I — I'm Jules, by the way — decided we would do it for him, as a surprise.

"Well, after everything was installed we decided we would have it hover-converted as well, so we took it forward to 2015."

"_But_," Verne took up the story, "when we got to 2015 we found our accounts hadn't accumulated enough interest to pay for the conversion, so Jules and I kept going forward until we got to 2085, when molecular nanotechnology had been perfected and a hover-convert was almost a no-cost update for any vehicle. We even got the drivetrain converted over to fusion technology — you can run the car on water now."

Harry had no idea what they were talking about, except that the vehicle they were in could fly and travel in time. "Where do I come in on all this?" he wanted to know.

"Oh, _you_," Vern laughed mirthlessly. "Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, Voldemort-Killer. You're here because we wondered what a wizard like you would do if he suddenly found himself stuck in 1885 for a while."

Harry shook his head, confused. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"In 2015 you're the Head Auror —" Verne began.

"Verne!" Jules cut in sharply. "Ix-nay on the uture-fay, dude!"

"I'm _Head Auror_?!" Harry gasped. He hadn't even _considered_ becoming an Auror! True, he was decent at Defense Against the Dark Arts, but you had to be pretty smart to become an Auror. "When did I become Head?"

"You took over from Gawain Robards in 2007," Verne said. He looked past Harry toward his brother, who was frowning disapprovingly. "Oh stop being such a retard about it, Jules — he's not going to remember any of this anyway!"

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked anxiously. "You're not going to Memory Charm me, are you?"

"Don't have much choice now, do we?" Jules growled from the driver's seat. The car had slowed and was moving downward. "Loudmouth Verne let the cat out of the bag, didn't he?"

"'Twere your idea to bring Potter back in the first place!" Verne shouted. The car bumped as they touched down. "None a' this would've happened if it weren't for you, Jules!"

"What's he mean?" Harry asked as the two young men pulled him from the vehicle. "Wait a minute! Explain to me what's going on!"

"We have to make things right," Jules grunted as he and Verne set Harry on his feet outside the Testarossa. "It's our fault the world is ruined — _our fault_!"

"But what happened?! Tell me!" Harry pleaded with them.

Verne looked at Jules, who nodded. "It's like this, Harry," Verne said. "Jules had this idea —"

"We _both_ had the idea!" Jules objected.

"Alright!" Verne snapped. "_We_ had this idea that you'd be like a fish out of water if you found yourself back in the Old West back in 1885. We come from this time — I was born in 1888, Jules was born in 1886."

"So you just thought you'd drop me a hundred years in the past with no way for me to get back home on my own?" Harry asked, incredulous. These two were as impulsive as Fred and George, but without any common sense! "What the hell were you _thinking_?!"

"We were going to come get you in a few weeks," Jules said defensively.

"But when we got back to the future," Verne went on. "We found everything — changed. Changed in the worst way possible."

"Everything was different," Jules said. "The United States was under military law. We had to go into hiding to avoid being taken into custody."

"All of the non-magicals had been enslaved," Verne said. "They believed God was punishing them for their wicked ways, that he had sent His prophet Marcanus to purify the world for Him."

"You said his name before," Harry remembered, looking from Jules' face to Verne's. "Who is Marcanus?!"

"It took us a while to figure that out," Jules said. "We spent weeks sneaking around, piecing together bits of information from discarded computers using future technology to recover information from the hard drives. We had to watch out for Marcanus's Sorcery Police — they enforced martial law on the non-magicals."

"Alright, I get the idea!" Harry snapped. "But who the _bloody hell_ is Marcanus?!"

"He's Mark McCain," Verne said.

**=ooo=**

"You've got to be kidding," Harry said when he recovered enough wits to respond. "Mark is a good guy — he'd never turn Dark!"

"You might not think so," Verne said soberly. "But things happen to a person that sees his father shot down in cold blood by outlaws."

"What?" Harry was speechless for the second time in seconds. "When did that happen?"

"Today, just hours ago," Jules said. "Right outside the North Folk courthouse. It took us weeks to track down the day and hour when it occurred, that moment in history when Mark McCain became Dark."

"We figured the only way to set things right was go back and prevent it from happening," Jules said. "But we miscalculated the time. Instead of arriving early enough to prevent Mark's father from being shot, we arrived after it occurred."

"But —"

"We couldn't try again," Jules cut over Harry's protest. "We decided the only thing to do was cut our losses and stop Mark before he could turn into Marcanus. That was why Verne tried to kill him."

"But —"

"But, some other wizard spirited him away," Verne nodded, misunderstanding Harry's remark. "We figured he's got someone here teaching him. That wizard hit me with a Stinging Hex," Verne complained, rubbing a spot on his chest. "Jules pulled away before I could recover, and we lost our chance to kill Marcanus."

"But —"

"But we didn't give up, you're right," Jules agreed. "We figured we'd go back a few hours and capture him this time! We landed Pa's car outside of town and searched for a powerful magical presence. When we found it, Verne Portkeyed to that place and grabbed a kid who looked like an old daguerreotype we found of Marcanus when he was a child.

"However," he went on ruefully. "He got _you_ instead. Why _were_ you Transfigured to look like Marcanus anyway?" Jules wanted to know.

"I wasn't!" Harry insisted. At least, he was pretty sure he didn't look like Mark when he'd been disguised as James Mallory. Maybe Lou had unconsciously made them look similar. "But listen, you've got it wrong anyway! Mark's father wasn't killed in front of the courthouse today! He shot two of the robbers dead inside the courthouse when they tried to escape!"

"Are you sure?" Jules and Verne looked at Harry skeptically. "We traced Marcanus's beginnings back to that day, when his father Lucas McCain was killed as he pushed Mark to safety at the door of the courthouse."

"I was there," Harry said. "I was inside the courtroom using an Ignore-Me spell so nobody would see me, and I —"

"Are you daft?!" Verne exclaimed. "There's no guarantee an Ignore-Me Charm will keep anyone from seeing you! Why didn't you use Disillusionment, or better still, your Invisibility Cloak?!"

"Because I don't _have_ my Invisibility Cloak!" Harry snapped. "And I can't cast Disillusionment yet! I've only had four years of school so far!"

"Oh yeah," Verne said, as if he'd just remembered. "We did aim for August 1995. I forgot you hadn't had your O.W.L.s yet."

"We getting away from the main issue," Jules argued. "How could Marcanus's father still be alive when we traced the beginnings of Marcanus back to his _death_?"

"How could it have happened in the first place?" Harry wondered. "My friend Hermione told me that time couldn't be changed anyway, that anything a wizard did in the past was really a part of that past, not something that could alter it."

"Would that be Hermione Granger?" Verne asked. Harry nodded. "Hermione Granger the smartest witch of her age?" Harry nodded again. "Hermione Granger, who got the third-best set of scores for the O.W.L. class of 1996?" For that question Harry could only shrug.

"I dunno," Harry said. "We haven't taken our O.W.L.s yet, I've told you that."

"Well it doesn't matter," Verne said. "She's wrong. You can change time—you just can't do it with a Time Turner. The magic of the Turner locks you into a causal loop that prevents you from altering the past. They're only meant to allow students to attend more than six hours of classes per day, not to alter the past.

"But with a time machine like this one," Verne pointed to the Testarossa, "we exit the bounds of our space-time continuum, traversing along a closed-timelike-curve, a path that begins and ends at the same point in space-time."

Harry waved his hand back and forth over his head several times. "I'll take your word for it," he said evenly. "But Mr. McCain is still alive. At least he _was_ just before you blokes kidnapped me!"

"That doesn't make any sense," Jules said to Verne. "We saw what we saw when we went back to 1995."

"Maybe we should go back to town and talk to Professor Dumbledore," Harry suggested. "He and Mad-Eye came back for me. Maybe they know what's going on."

"They came back for you?" Verne echoed, frowning. "Even in 1995 no wizard can travel more than six hours into the past. Unless —" he looked at Jules, as both of them paled. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I think so," said Jules, hoarsely. "Pa's time locomotive!"

"There was someone else with Dumbledore," Harry said, remembering. "A man wearing a cowboy hat and a white coat, with really strange-looking white hair."

"Merlin's pants," Verne moaned.

"Holy shit," Jules cursed. "We're totally busted, dude. What do you think we should do —" Both he and Verne suddenly collapsed to the ground.

Harry looked down at them, not understanding what they were doing. "Falling on the ground is probably not the best thing to do," he said. He knelt down, shaking first Verne's, then Jules's shoulders. "Hey — are you two okay?"

"That was my doing, Harry," a familiar voice next to Harry said, and Harry started as Professor Dumbledore suddenly appeared beside him. "I've rendered them unconscious so we can discuss the situation we find ourselves in."

"How did you find me, sir?" Harry wondered.

"You spoke my name a few moments ago," Dumbledore replied, taking what looked like a lighter from his robes. "My Deluminator picked that up and I was able to use it to immediately locate you and Apparate to this location while Disillusioned."

"You mean whenever someone says your name, you hear it?" Harry asked, staring at the device in Dumbledore's hand.

"Yes, that is correct," Dumbledore nodded.

"I see," Harry said, resolving not to say Dumbledore's name aloud anymore unless he was in dire straits. "Well, so what are we going to do about these two? They think Mark is going to become a Dark Lord because his father was supposed to be killed today, but that didn't happen."

"I see," Dumbledore murmured in turn, regarding the two unconscious young men thoughtfully. "It appears a temporal paradox of some sort is in effect at the moment. We should discuss the situation with Doctor Brown."

"Who is Doctor Brown?" Harry wanted to know. "That guy with the cowboy hat?"

"He is the father of these two young men," Dumbledore replied. "And the inventor of several time-traveling vehicles, of which this —" he gestured toward the Testarossa "— is one example."

Dumbledore gestured with his wand; two cushioned chairs appeared next to the Testarossa. "If you would help me make these two lads more comfortable, Harry —" His wand pointed at Verne, who rose into the air and floated into one of the chairs. Harry followed his lead, floating Jules into the other chair.

"I will return shortly with the others, Harry," Dumbledore then told him.

"Wait," Harry said, before Dumbledore could disappear. Dumbledore waited politely for Harry to speak. "Er — what if they wake up while you're gone, Professor? Verne is a fully-qualified wizard."

"I do not believe someone who has successfully held off Lord Voldemort will have much difficulty handling a 'fully-qualified wizard,'" Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "But do not worry — I will be only a few moments."

"Couldn't we at least tie them?" Harry asked, plaintively.

"Doctor Brown is rather protective of his sons, as any father should be. I would rather he not find them bound or constrained when we return. As it is, he will probably be distressed to find them sleeping." Dumbledore nodded. "I will return shortly, Harry."

"But —" Harry tried to stop the Headmaster again but he had vanished with a barely audible _pop_. Harry sighed, hoping the professor would return as quickly as he promised. He looked around for the first time since getting out of the car, trying to figure out where he was. There was nothing but hills and brush and rocky terrain in every direction he looked. He had no idea how far from North Fork he was. He looked at the Testarossa; if worse came to worst, he could also fly it out of here, like he and Ron had flown Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia from Kings Cross to Hogwarts. _And how well did _that_ work out for you_, he reminded himself. They'd crashed the car into the Whomping Willow, damaging it, and were nearly expelled. The car itself had fled into the Forbidden Forest. Ron's mum sent him a Howler, and he'd gotten his father in trouble as well; the Ministry held an inquiry and fined him 50 Galleons, and Lucius Malfoy had called for his resignation.

Maybe, Harry decided, trying to fly the Testarossa wasn't such a good idea.

There was a sudden whoosh of air as five figures suddenly materialized nearby: Professor Dumbledore in his deep blue robe, Mad-Eye Moody in dark leather and a black cloak, a wild-eyed, wild-haired man in a white coat who fell over backwards as he appeared, his friend Mark, and Lucas McCain. Harry smiled seeing Mark again, and nodded at Mr. McCain, who was looking around in obvious astonishment.

Once the wild-haired man had regained his feet (Harry deduced he was Doctor Brown) he rushed over to the chairs where his two sons were. "What's wrong with them?" he asked excitedly. "What's happened?!"

"They are asleep, Doctor," Dumbledore said calmly. "I cast a sleeping spell upon them so they would not flee while I was returning here with you."

Mark had walked over to Harry. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "Professor Dumbledore found me." He nodded toward Jules and Verne. "These two kidnapped me from 1995 and brought me here for a prank."

"Why would they wanna go and do such a thing?" Mark asked, surprised.

"Just a silly joke," Harry muttered, watching as Professor Dumbledore twitched his wand at them, awakening the two young men. "They thought it would be funny to bring me back to 1885, that I wouldn't be able to take care of myself in this time."

"That sounds pretty mean of them," Mark said, frowning. "Are they gonna get in trouble?"

"_What were you two thinking_?!" Doc shrieked at his sons now that they were awake. "Time travel is a privilege, not a right! You should know better than to go gallivanting off into the future and past without any regard for others!"

"Pa, it was just a joke —" Jules began.

"A _joke_?!" Doc screeched. "Do you see anyone here _laughing_?!" He pointed a finger at Verne. "And _you_! Trying to curse this boy —" he pointed at Mark "—with some kind of spell I've never heard of before! What is Av — Avada Kedavra supposed to be, anyway?!"

Verne had paled when his father said the words to the Killing Curse. "Pa, we had no choice — we were — we were trying to s-save the United States — the _world _— from evil."

"What evil?" Doc demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"Mark McCain," Verne said, pointing toward him. "After his father died he became —"

"What _are_ you talking about?" Lucas spoke up. "I'm not dead!"

Jules and Verne both looked at him in surprise. "Are you Lucas McCain?"

"I am," Lucas said firmly. "What makes you think I'm dead?"

"We were sure you d-died today," Verne stammered. "It was reported in the Santa Fe paper!" He reached into the Testarossa and came out with a copy of the _Santa Fe Daily New Mexican_ dated August 28, 1885. The front-page title read, "Lucas McCain, 'The Rifleman,' Mysteriously Killed in North Fork."

"Holy cow!" Mark exclaimed, grabbing the paper. He read quickly. "Pa, it says you were killed on August 24 during a hearing in the North Fork courthouse! But that's _not_ what happened!"

Doc Brown snatched the paper from Mark's hands, staring at the headline and article. "Of course! I've seen paradoxes like this before! When Jules and Verne brought Harry to this place and time, they set in motion a series of events that led to Mr. McCain being killed on the 24th."

He turned toward Dumbledore and Moody. "But when these two gentlemen forced —"

"Watch it," Moody growled.

"Er — _requested_ —" Doc amended, "— that I return them to 1885 to find Harry Potter, we created yet another alternative track, one in which Mr. McCain _didn't_ die, returning the time stream to its former state and eliminating the future where young Mark here does _not_ grow up to be a Dark wizard. It's very simple, really."

"Right," Harry said sarcastically. "Too bad we can't prevent Voldemort from being born, then."

"Hmmm," Dumbledore murmured, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"Don't even _think_ about it, Albus," Moody growled.

"Yes," Doc agreed fervently. "We can't just run around changing the past to suit our own personal desires! You've already seen what a profound effect even the smallest change can have! Look!" He held up the paper he'd been holding.

As they stared at it, the headline was blurring, changing before their eyes. It finally became, "Unexplained Happenings in North Fork Mystifies Townfolk." Mark took the paper back and began reading. "It says here," Mark read, "Lucas McCain, a resident of the town and widely known as 'the Rifleman,' said that the mysterious object that appeared in the skies above the town was probably just an usually low dark cloud or flock of crows that passed over the town."

"That doesn't make any sense," Lucas objected. "Crows don't nest around here."

"It doesn't matter," Moody said cynically. "People will believe it because they want to believe it."

Lucas shot him a look, but thought better of saying anything. "Well, now that's settled," Jules said, trying to gloss over any further details. "We ought to get back to 1995 and get ready for school."

"Oh, yeah," Mark said, remembering today was supposed to be the first day of school. He looked at Harry. "But — what about Lou…?"

"I will discuss the situation with her," Dumbledore spoke up. "Perhaps she will be able to instruct young Mark here in wizarding matters."

Mark smiled, but quickly looked at his father. "If — if that's alright with you, Pa," he asked, silently hoping Lucas had changed his mind about magic.

Lucas slowly smiled and put a hand on Mark's shoulder. "It's fine with me, son. Education is important, as I've always told you — even if I don't always understand what's being taught."

Harry beamed and nudged Mark in the arm, happy to hear that his father had come round.

Dumbledore was smiling as well. "I may be able to be of further assistance," he added, reaching into his robes. "I understand you require one of these," he pulled out a wand and handed it to Mark, who stared at it like it was a brand-new rifle.

"Gosh!" he said, holding it carefully. "Thank you, sir!"

"I'm no Garrick Ollivander," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling merrily, "but why don't you give it a shake and see how it reacts?"

Mark held out the wand, looking around at everyone watching him, then brought the wand down quickly. Green and yellow sparks shot from the wand and Jules, Verne and Harry all applauded, followed afterward by the adults.

"Very good!" Doc Brown congratulated him. "You'll make a fine wizard one day, just like my son Verne!"

Harry glanced at Lucas, who was looking proudly at his son. He was glad Mark was going to have his father supporting him instead of being against him using magic. How different would his own life have been, Harry wondered, if his aunt and uncle approved of his use of magic instead of considering him a freak and discouraging any use or even mention of magic around their home? Well, that didn't matter now. What mattered was getting Lou to agree to teach Mark. That shouldn't be a problem, Harry decided, given that Lou thought of Mark like a son.

And even though he'd been brought here against his will, Harry would miss these times, just a little. Mark had been a real friend to him while he was here, and Lou as well, even though she'd kept him busy in her hotel and made him attend school (which never really happened, he reminded himself). Now he would go back to the future and deal with his problems there: Voldemort, Death Eaters, and Draco Malfoy, not to mention whoever they got for a Defense professor this year.

**=ooo=**

"HARRY!" Hermione squealed, embracing him tightly as he stepped into the bedroom Mrs. Weasley had said was his. "Ron! He's here!" Hermione pulled back, beaming happily at him even as she kept talking a mile a minute. "We didn't hear you arrive! How are you? Dumbledore didn't tell us where you'd gone, only that you were off doing something for him. And the Dementors! He told us about them — it's just outrageous the Ministry wanted to expel you! But they can't do it, they can't expel you, they just _can't_. There's a provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations, you're covered under that —!"

Ron, who had arrived in the doorway behind Harry, was grinning as he closed the door behind them. "Give him a chance to breathe, Hermione," he said. "So what were you up to, mate?"

Harry didn't speak right away. He and Dumbledore had talked about this during the trip back to 1995 in Doc Brown's rather unusual steam locomotive. He hadn't felt either Ron or Hermione should hear about time-traveling locomotives or Testarossas, and suggested to Harry that the "mission" he'd been on should be better left unexplained until a time when they were ready to hear about it.

Harry had to agree. Ron would have been jealous that Harry had traveled to the past in a flying car, and Hermione would want to know the principles of time travel, which Harry could hardly conceive of himself, much less explain to _her_. "Well, it's all rather hush-hush," Harry said slowly, resisting the temptation to tell them anyway. After all, they hadn't been very forthcoming when he'd tried to write to them asking when he would be coming to visit them, or find out what was happening with Lord Voldemort's return. "Dumbledore asked me not to talk about it."

"Oh, come _on_, Harry!" Ron whined, clearly hoping to hear more than that. "Dumbledore asked us not to say anything to you about You-Know-Who, but —"

"And you didn't, did you?" Harry pointed out, growing a bit annoyed. "Kept your promise to Du— to the Headmaster, didn't you?" Did "Headmaster" count as saying Dumbledore's name, Harry wondered. "But now you want me to spill everything that _I_ did?"

"Harry!" Hermione looked stricken at his words. "We're not asking you to break your promise!"

"It sure sounds like you are," Harry argued, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well, then keep your bloody secret!" Ron snapped petulantly.

"Ron! Language!" Hermione said warningly.

"Bollocks!" Ron told her. "He's the one who's not trusting us!"

Harry turned, threw the door open and walked out of the room. "Where're you going? You're not supposed to leave!" Ron called after him, but he didn't stop. He went down the stairs to the ground floor, through the main hallway past the troll's leg umbrella stand, past the moth-eaten curtains and out the front door. He walked across the street to the park on the other side of the road, where long shadows were being cast by the setting sun shining between the grimy buildings surrounding Grimmauld Square. He threw himself down furiously on a park bench across from an elderly man who was tossing bits of popcorn to the birds fluttering around him.

Who the hell did Ron and Hermione think they were, expecting him to tell them everything about what he'd been doing, when they'd told him _nothing_ about what had gone on in July, while he'd been stuck on Privet Drive? Harry shook his head angrily, trying to figure out what he would do next. Was he going to tell them about North Fork and what had gone on there? Maybe. Someday, after he'd gotten over being mad at them. Which at this rate would take quite a bit of time as far as he was concerned!

"Popcorn?"

Harry looked up. The old man from the bench across from him had walked over and was holding a bag out toward him. "Excuse me?" Harry said, looking at the old man.

"You seem a bit worked up, young feller," the old man said. "You want to give the birds some popcorn? Might make you feel better."

"Oh. No, thanks," Harry said. "I actually ought to get back inside," he pointed vaguely behind him.

The old man smiled and sat down on the bench next to him. "I understand. You can never be too careful these days, what with Voldemort being back and all."

Harry sat bolt upright. Was this old man a wizard? "How d'you know about —"

"I've known for over a hundred years now, Harry," the old man told him, smiling. "Have you recognized me yet?"

"I — uh —" then everything suddenly connected for him. "Mark?" he said, astounded. "Is that _you_?"

"It's me," Mark smiled gently. "I know it's not a good time for you right now, but I wanted to come by and say hello before it was too late. I'm 125 years old, Harry, and I've had a good life. I'm not supposed to tell you about your future, but I want you to know that things will get worse before they get better. You just need to keep on trying, don't give up."

Harry smiled at his friend. "Thank you," he said. "I won't give up. Ever."

"Good." Mark patted Harry's shoulder. "Time for me to go, then. Good to see you again, Harry." Mark stood and nodded to him, then disappeared.

Harry stood as well. Perhaps he should go back inside Grimmauld Place and talk to Ron and Hermione, apologize to them. And maybe — just maybe — he could tell them a little of what happened on his summer holiday.

=ooo=

**The End**


End file.
